A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 56 What You See is Never What You Get
The equinox party had been an enjoyable experience for all. The warm dry weather had provided a better Autumn equinox party than had been enjoyed for many a year. However, by the third week of October the Indian summer was well and truly over. Auld Alan Peabody had yet to be proven correct in every detail, but he had been spot on so far. The warm weather had changed from nineteen Celsius [66·2℉] to minus three [26·6℉] in three days. Still dry without a discernable trace of moisture in the air, the night skies were crystal clear and there were so many stars and other celestial phenomena visible to the naked eye that one could almost if one took an over hurried look think the sky was covered in a thin but very high cloud layer. That was till the aurora borealis appeared. Night after night after night it was visible from the Bearthwaite valley. It was not unknown, but never in memory, nor in any tale ever telt, had it been so spectacular, for such durations, nor for such an extended period of time.
The meteorological office were predicting a drop of ten or more degrees to minus thirteen to minus sixteen [8·6 to 3·2℉] over the next ten days. For days Alan had been gazing at the grass and the other vegetation, he’d noted the few insects that were moving very sluggishly in the bitter cold and the absence of most vertebrate wildlife, even the birds were conspicuous by their absence. The silence he found uncanny. As always, at least once a day, he’d logged onto sites that provided weather information from the English channel all the way across Eurasia to the Bering Strait.(1) He’d experienced the thin sunshine on his bared arms and face that held no more trace of warmth than the air held moisture. He’d noted the breezes such as they were for hours at a time and eventually he’d said, almost as if he didn’t wish to say it for fear that his words would become a self fulfilling prophecy, that by the time the ten days were over it would be down to minus twenty, [-4℉] maybe colder. He’d been correct, and by the time another ten days had passed it was down to minus twenty-two [-7·6℉] at noon in Bearthwaite and minus twenty-nine point one [-20·38℉] in the small hours. Previously the coldest UK temperature ever recorded had been minus twenty-seven point two [-16·96℉] in Braemar which was in north east Scotland on the tenth of January nineteen eighty-two. Cold as it had become at Bearthwaite the previous fortnight had seen temperatures in Scotland to the north of Bearthwaite setting records for new UK lows virtually every night.
Joel Williams, Bearthwaite’s weather fanatic who taught meteorology at the BEE, Bearthwaite Educational Establishment, had asked Auld Alan, “Just how cold do you reckon it’s going to get, Alan?”
“I couldn’t even guess, Lad. This is as new to me as it is to you. I do know that this ain’t anywhere nigh close to as bad as it’s going to be. Wait till the snow arrives and the drifts start to pile up. I reckon as on the windward sides it’ll get as high as house ridges and then just keep blowing over the top. We’ll get whiteout blizzards so bad it’ll be dangerous going out of your front door just to go next door, for there’ll be a good chance you’ll get lost and die in it if you ain’t got your phone on you. Long before then the fjälls will be impossible to get on to or to get off and all the usual routes up and down, which all have at least some sheltered low lying spots, will be six may be ten yards [6-10m, 18-30 feet] deep in snow. I’ve had a word with our shepherds and any else as grazes up on the fjälls and there hasn’t bin a Bearthwaite beast(2) or yow(3) up on the tops for three days now. I telt ’em that I’d be damned afore I’d wait of an RAF(4) helicopter dropping enough hay to feed a dozen sheep when I’d a few thousand needing fed. All our stock and I mean all the stock in the entire valley and all our folks’ stock outside the valley too is now in sheltered spots where there’re supplies of watter as won’t freeze so how calt as it gets. Spots where lads can get to deliver feed when the wind drops and where there are stores of hay and haylage(5) that will keep stock going when the lads can’t get to feed ’em.
“I’ve had some of Murray’s lads posing as feed dealers discreetly buying as much hay and haylage down country(6) as they could get their hands on for a couple of months now, and as usual Phil has bought up all the local cereals and a lot more besides this year because those new grain silos were available to fill. When he couldn’t get a holt on any more wheat or barley at a sensible price he fillt ’em with cheap maize, mostly coming in from abroad because it was cheaper than UK grown stuff, so I reckon we’ll do all right. Folk elsewhere are going to lose stock, a lot of stock, mostly through greed. I mind well the hellers of forty-seven, sixty-two and eighty-two, and this is going to be a damn sight worse. My youngsters have all the pigs down to where they can feed ’em easily no matter what the weather, and all feed that’s coming in from outside now is being sent straight to Greg Armstrong’s spot to store in his silos and big barns ready to use direct or to fettle(7) into nuts. We’ll sort the coin(8) out when we can be bothered, probably next Easter. Right now we’ve all got more important things to do and think on. We’ll handle it because we’re Bearthwaite folk and we look after each other. That’s what we’ve done for centuries, and we’re still here, but I reckon elsewhere folk are going to die this time like in the good old days.”
Alan’s tone became caustic. “Only this time it’ll be their own bloody, stupid faults, not that of the upper classes that kept them, like they kept us, in poverty afore. They’ve got all the money they could possibly need to survive easy now and more, but they waste it on overpriced shite they don’t need and then they look to some other bugger to feed ’em and their kids. Well not this daft auld bugger, Lad. I’ve got four generations of my own and a lot of good friends to feed. How bad will it get? Who knows. I can’t even hazard a guess because I’ve got nowt to base one on. We’ve never hit minus thirty [-22℉] before anywhere in Britain in recorded history, though it’s said that during the winter of sixteen eighty-three going into eighty-four the ice on the Thames was a foot thick [305mm]. I’ve never manage to find even an estimate of how calt it was, but it’s reputed to be the most severe frost recorded in England. It always seemed daft to me to use the expression worst recorded when there’s not even an indication of how calt it was, how is that recorded? Come to that what was it they were recording? Maybe we’ll hit minus forty [-40℉] this time. I wouldn’t rule it out, but like I said I’ve never bin here afore. Think on, it’s not that long since for the first time recorded the temperature in the UK went over forty Celsius. Forty point three [104·54℉] it was at Coningsby in Lincolnshire on the nineteenth of July twenty twenty-two. So owt’s possible.
Trent, Ethan, Flynn were all eight years old and had been discovered by Al, a kindly passerby, hiding in a pile of cardboard trying to stay warm behind a rubbish skip [US dumpster] in a back street in the city centre of Lincoln. It was early evening in mid autumn, but despite the warmth during what was to prove to be the last of the Indian summer’s days, the sky’s were clear and the bright starlit nights were cold to the point of the mercury dropping below freezing. It was expected to be another below zero [32℉] night and possibly very much below zero according to the forecast. Al had taken the boys home, fed them a snack with a cup of tea before Fionulla, his wife had shewn them the bathroom and gone to a friend for some clean out grown clothes. Whilst the boys had been getting dressed, she’d cooked a substantial meal that looked like it would have fed a dozen of them, but it had all been eaten. Al had been blunt but honest, “Boys, much as I’d like to have you live here with us it just isn’t possible, for a whole host of reasons. However, I know some folks who would love to have you, and I mean to adopt you, all of you, as family, as sons. You would be tret right and have the best that they could provide for you. The down side is you would have to go to school.” Al had grinned at that as the boys smiled, school was for two of them a dream come true and even Flynn who was only of moderate intellectual ability would rather go to school with the other two than not if they went.
Al asked, “Have I to make the phone call or would you rather stay here till next week when Fionulla and I have to fly out to the far east for twelve months. Once we go this flat will be rented to someone else and that means back to the streets again for you. It was minus six [21·2℉] last night and it is expected to get much colder soon. Please go to our friends or you will almost certainly die out there.”
Trent looked at the other boys and said, “We’d like you to make that phone call, but where would we be going?”
“It’s a small isolated village called Bearthwaite in what is now Westmorland. That’s a hundred and eighty or maybe two hundred miles north of here. It’s not far from there to Scotland. I’m not being nosy about your pasts because I believe that folks who live on the streets do so because all their other options are worse, so I’m not asking any questions. Folk where you are going folk won’t ask questions either, or at least only a few will, but only what they need answers to to keep you safe from whatever it is you are trying to escape from. They don’t like Social Services and are not too fond of the police either. Don’t get me wrong they are not criminals nor in any way nasty. They are decent folk who just want to be left alone to live life their way. If you need hid they’ll hide you. I’m not from there, but I’m from not too far away from there, and I have a lot of friends who live at Bearthwaite. There is a school there, so if you don’t want to you don’t have to leave the village which is at the end of a valley maybe ten miles long and even further from the nearest houses of persons who are not their kind of folk. You’ll find the folk there to be different from any you’ve ever met before, but they are decent, kind and honest. Still interested?”
The boys all nodded albeit slowly and heard as Al made the call. “Hello, Pete, it’s Al Dacre. You still in the business of rescuing kids who haven’t been given a fair crack of the whip? … Good. Listen up. I have three lads here in serious need of a bit of help. They’re all eight and were living rough. It’s getting damned cold here and I suspect from what the forecast says it’ll get a lot worse in a matter of days. I don’t know their tales, and it’s not up to me to ask. We can’t look after them because we’re flying out to Japan next week. … Yes I agree not a good idea at their age. So if not the train how do we do it? … Okay. Who do we expect? … Trucking Trace‽ … What? Is she in the illegal taxi driving business as well now? … Okay. We’ll look forward to seeing her mid afternoon day after tomorrow. That’ll give Fionulla some time to buy some clothes and personal stuff for the lads. It was good to hear your voice again. When we get back I’ll book a suite for a month and throw my phone away. … Thanks. Bye.”
“Right, Lads. As you heard that was my friend Pete. I’ve known him for thirty-odd years. Pete and his family own a pub called the Green Dragon Inn at Bearthwaite. It’s the only pub there and is a huge spot. The village has possibly ten thousand adults and kids living there, so it’s like a small town really, but it’s like living in a rural village not an urban town. There’re no factories and most folk earn their living working on farms or doing something to do with agriculture. Trucking Trace is a nice lady who gets called that because she drives a crew cab truck for a living. That’s a truck with two rows of seats in the cab and an open truck body behind that. Her real name is Tracy Maxwell. Maxwell is a common name up there. It’s Pete’s surname too, though as far as I’m aware he isn’t related to Tracy. Tracy is going to ring us later for our address and other details. Pete said he’ll have the senior folk up there looking into parents for you as soon as he put the phone down. You heard me say that you need some new clothes and some personal stuff. It’s too late to go shopping now, but we can look on the internet and have the stuff sent to Pete. Tired? Fancy a cup of tea before bed? Okay you lot get ready for bed, one on the settee, one in the spare bed and the other in a sleeping bag on the camp bed. I’ll leave it to you to decide who sleeps where whilst I make that tea and ratch out some ham sandwiches and biscuits. Tomorrow I’ll get you up at eight so you can have a good breakfast to set you up for the day. We’ll eat lunch out tomorrow and have a roast meat Sunday dinner tomorrow night even though it’ll be Thursday.
Thursday had been an exhausting but enjoyable day for the boys alternating between the thin bitter east English wind and biting cold and the unbelievable warmth of the shops. They’d returned with more clothes and possessions each than they considered necessary for all three of them. Fionulla had said, “You need all of this or other boys your age will think we don’t care about you which isn’t true.” Lunch had been intimidating for the boys because it was in a restaurante which they’d only ever scrounged in the bins of for food before. They were sure the waitress was aware of that and that she recognised them despite their new to them clean clothes, but Al was clearly someone the staff didn’t wish to upset never mind annoy, and he’d really frightened the assistant manageress when he called her over and told her that he’d appreciate it if she made it clear to her staff that glaring at his wards was not an appropriate mode of behaviour in what was a service industry that relied upon the recommendations of it’s clientele. After that the boys had enjoyed what Fionulla had ordered for them. Fionulla had ordered for them when they asked her to because the said they didn’t understand what most if the items on the menu were. They had all pronounced the lamb chops with potatoes, roast and boiled, broccoli, cauliflower and gravy to be excellent. The piping hot apple pie with cream almost too thick to pour was considered by them to be equally good.
However, there was no such problem as glaring waitresses with the roast beef dinner with all the trimmings that Fionulla had cooked from scratch. The boys had been amazed at the size of the beef joint and had volunteered to help in the kitchen. They’d made Yorkshire puddings from scratch and had peeled vegetables. They had enjoyed themselves helping to prepare the food which once on the table was a veritable feast for them. Most of the trimmings the boys weren’t familiar with, and they’d never heard of eating steamed red cabbage with apple slices cooked in it before and though they’d heard of Yorkshire pudding they had had no idea what they were. The horse radish sauce was a surprise and after their first taste they were more cautious. They managed to clear their plates, and were more than ready to confront the steamed treacle pudding with ice cream now they were in the warm. Yet again they managed to clear their plates but only just this time, and were not averse to Fionulla’s suggestion that they had an early night.
The following morning Fionulla cooked a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, baked beans, fried bread and something they’d never seen before: black pudding. “I know it sounds disgusting boys, but it’s main ingredient is blood and it’s delicious. It’s difficult to obtain here, but where you’re going it’s available everywhere. However, some is much tastier than others. You are lucky because one of the best, in my opinion the very best, is made by Vince the Mince the Bearthwaite butcher. Somewhat hesitantly the boys tried the black pudding and all three agreed it was amazing. That the large white chunks that provided so much taste and relieved the somewhat dry blood component were pork fat they considered to be astonishing. Flynn said that after that surprise he’d even be prepared to try snails and frogs legs with an open mind. Al went to a local supermarket for some stout cardboard boxes, mostly used for transporting apples, and they spent till lunch packing their belongings.
Not long after lunch Fionulla received a call from Tracy saying she was probably no more than a quarter hour away from them and she was asking for more detailed instruction to arrive at the flat with a minimum of effort. Tracy was a small pretty looking woman and the boys took to her quickly due to her quirky sense of humour. After loading Tracey’s truck with their boxes which she covered with a tarpaulin in case of rain it was time to say good bye. The boys were upset to leave the only folk any of the three could remember who had treated them well. They managed to keep their emotions under control when Al shook their hands in goodbye, but all three broke down when Fionulla kissed their cheeks as she hugged them. None had had any experience of a mother’s love, or indeed anyone’s love, all they have known was at at best indifference and at worst serious abuse, so they were completely unprepared for the pain that they felt which took them several minutes to come to terms with.
They cheered up a bit when Fionulla said, “That’s not it forever, Boys. There’re emails, texts, phone calls, Zoom and other things too to use keep in contact with. You’ll be given a special phone at Bearthwaite to keep you safe that will do all of those things, and you’ll have to have a laptop for school too and you’ll be provided with a top of the range model. We’ll be back in a year and we’ll expect to see you. By then you’ll have grown, so maybe we won’t recognise you. However, I’m certain that by then you will have found a mum and dad who will love you deeply. I know you are all good boys, so I also know that you will love your mum and dad who will for sure look after and protect you. That’s how it works at Bearthwaite. You mustn’t let your love for Al and me prevent that. You know that despite the short period of time we’ve known each other we love you, but we can not in fairness be you parents because we spend three-quarters of our lives abroad where we help other children in desperate need. Starving children who live in places where there is nothing to steal to eat. We will always love you, and we hope that you will always love us, but as an Auntie and an Uncle.” She chuckled, kissed them again and pushed them towards the truck.
After Tracy pulled off there was a palpable silence till Tracy asked, “So what do you want to know about Bearthwaite then? I’m an expert, cos I’ve never lived anywhere else, and to be honest I don’t want to. I’d rather be broke at Bearthwaite than rich anywhere else because it’s a better place to live and the folk who live there are better than folk anywhere else.” The journey was nothing but questions and answers after that, though there were questions that Tracy admitted she didn’t know the answers to. Tracy telt them “I considered pulling in for a snack at Tebay services on the M6. I reckon it’s the best motorway services in the country because it’s privately owned by a local family of farmers rather than a fast food outlet, but it would have added at least half an hour in the truck, possibly an hour if traffic were heavy and at least half an hour on top to eat. I decided against it thinking you’d want to get home. We’re about half an hour out from Bearthwaite now.” Not long after that Tracy’s phone rang. It was connected hands off, so the boys could hear both sides of the conversation.
“Tracy, it’s Elle. Where are you now? Or rather how long till you get home?”
“About half an hour, Elle. What do you know? The boys are listening by the way.”
“Good. The bottom line is Jym Rosehill and Grant Peabody and living at the farm. I didn’t know till a couple of hours ago, but Jym and Grant are getting married as soon as they can find Murray or Chance with the time in which to marry them, but Veronica has insisted it has to be a nice day next spring, so everyone can enjoy the wedding party. Grant wanted to argue, but Jym told him to shut up and just do what his mum telt him. So obviously she’s fitting in well already. Jym wants a family as soon as possible and telt me that Susanna said she’s unlikely to be six months like she thought because the ultra sound indicated five and a half at most and possibly just five. It’s all a bit uncertain because she’s having twins and they tend to be a little smaller than a singleton, but they’re pretty certain now that her twins are one of each. Instructions from the entire Peabody Clan, including Auld Alan, so that makes it official, are to take the boys to the farm. Everything that matters will have been dealt with by the time you arrive, and all the rest can be sorted out tomorrow or even next week. Do you have any questions, Tracy? Or you, Boys?”
The boys shook their heads. Elle to them had sounded like the voice of authority and they were nervous. “No we’re fine, Elle. I’ll see you when I see you, Bye.” As the phone went silent Tracy said, “I don’t believe you, Boys, for I’m sure you’re full of questions. That was Elle Vetrov who is a very senior person at Bearthwaite. I don’t know how old she is, but she’s probably old enough to be my Granny if not my great Granny. If I start you can interrupt to ask questions. Okay? Jym who is probably going to be your mum, but I like everyone else will tell you that is your choice not hers, is I suppose about thirty. Her name is spelt with a why not an eye (a y not an i), she says that was because her mum read it somewhere and she reads weird kinds of books. Jym is a senior investigator into child abuse for a very powerful adoption agency that is independent of politicians, the courts and the police. Their only interest is what is in children’s best interests. Her job is putting persons who mistreat children into prison and she’s very good at it. She’s going to have a pair of babies in about three months though apparently the senior midwife at Bearthwaite thinks it may be a bit longer than that.
“She’s getting married to Grant Peabody who is a farmer. They’ve been seeing each other for about three months I think. The Peabodys are a big family that all live together and run a huge farm. Grant who wants to be your Dad is twenty-two or -three. He has three brothers and four sisters. I don’t know exactly how many Peabodys live at the farmhouse, which is a huge house, but there are a lot of them, including Grant’s dad, granddad and great granddad. His great granddad, Auld Alan, is probably nearer to a hundred than he is to ninety. They are all decent caring folk. They keep poultry of various kinds including I’ve been telt peacocks, or maybe I should have said peafowl, but whatever. Also, pigs, dairy cows, beef cattle and a lot of sheep besides other things too, including Polish bison which look like cows with big horns but aren’t. They have a dairy which bottles milk, and makes cream, butter, cheese and yoghurt. They also make non dairy stuff that is like dairy stuff from soya beans. I don’t know how. They have a restaurante for visitors too. It’s a very busy spot that employs a lot of Bearthwaite folk. Today is Friday, so you’ll be expected to be in school on Monday. Any questions?” There were three heads being shaken.
When Tracy pulled up in the farm yard in front of the house she was initially surprised to see only Jym and Grant waiting to greet the boys. A second later she realised that Jym would have insisted that the boys were not overwhelmed by her new family. As three rather timid boys got out of the car she asked Tracy, “Did you tell them about my job, Tracy?”
Tracy said, “I did, but I asked them nothing about their pasts. It’s none of my business. Get some of your brothers, Grant, to grab their stuff will you, please? I’ll remove the tarpaulin.” At that Grant returned to the house and returned with two men who nodded at the boys, but said nothing and picked up a couple of boxes each.
Jym hugged the boys and said, “This will all be very intimidating to begin with. Your dad’s brothers will take your stuff into your bedrooms whilst we do what I think you need to do before meeting all the family. Your Dad has another brother too, but I don’t know where your Uncle Gunni is at the moment. I’d like you all to meet your dad’s great granddad for a few minutes. He’s very old, very wise and owns the farm and all its land too. He is a very kind man who wishes to meet you.”
The boys were ushered into a small comfortable looking room in which a tiny man, certainly less than five feet tall, with a straight back was sitting in a comfortable arm chair staring at a bright and crackling log fire with five sheep dogs lying in front of it snoozing. One of the bitches, was heavily pregnant and the boys were fascinated by the movement of her pups which were extremely active, though she was clearly asleep. The old man stood, arising from the chair with no effort and said quietly with no hint of intimidation in his voice, “So you are my great great grandsons. I’m damned glad to meet you, Lads. Who’s whom? That’s Nell that you’re looking at by the way, her pups were due some time last week. If she doesn’t shape herself(9) over the week I’ll have to be calling Hamilton the vet to do something about it. I’m not fashing mysel about it the moment because it’s her fourth litter and she’s never had any problems before though she tends to run to ten weeks rather than nine.”
The boys in turn said, “I’m Finn.”
“I’m Ethan.”
“I’m Trent.”
Auld Alan shook hands with the boys in turn before asking, “Do you know anything about the countryside or farming?” Three heads shook unhappily in response. “Oh well. You soon will, and you’ll soon find out what you’re interested in. If you want to try something that is like to cost money, come and talk to me about it. I’ll sort the money out for you. Technically I own this spot, not that that means they let me actually do owt these days, but I do have enough money to finance you, and the wilder your ideas are the more entertainment I’ll get out of it. At my age worthwhile entertainment is damned hard to find because there’s not much I haven’t already seen or done, and the telly certainly doesn’t provide owt worth wasting time on, so I telt ’em to tek the bloody thing away and dump it. That was thirty or forty years ago, and I’m telt there’s even worse rubbish on it these days. As for the wireless,(10) there hasn’t been owt worth listening to on that since they did away with the Home Service.(11) Don’t take any notice of your mum, she likes to pretend that she’s a timid little piece, but I reckon she’s as hard as nails which is why I was more than pleased she decided to take one of the lads on. That’s your dad I’m talking about.
“Truth is she scares the hell out of me. But she’ll make a damned good mum and none will ever push you around with her in the background. Come and find me regularly. I like company that isn’t bothered about upsetting me. At my age being upset proves that I’m still alive. You’ll be too young to drink owt of significance, but I’d appreciate it if you had a whisky and a craic(12) with me every now and again, even if the whisky is just enough to wet the sides of a glass and well wattered.(13) That way I’ll be able to tell folk as I had a drink with my great great grandsons. There’re ain’t many lads as can say that, mostly they get buried long before they have the opportunity. Now go and listen to your mum and answer all her questions truthfully because she needs to know the answers to make sure she can protect you and that any idiots that should be in gaol get put there. She’s damned good at doing that sort of thing. She’s not much of a farmer yet, but I don’t doubt she’ll succeed at that as well as she has with owt else she’s ever tried her hand at.” He nodded and to the boys surprise said each of their names as he looked at them and shook their hands. They hadn’t expected him to remember which face went with which name.
They left what they learnt was referred to as Auld Alan’s parlour to be guided to another room with a well banked log fire burning low in the grate. Jym carefully placed a couple of logs on the fire and replace the metal mesh fire guard indicating the boys were to take a chair. Trent asked, “Was he being serious about money and whisky? Er, Mum?”
“I imagine so. Something I should tell you is your granddad’s granddad is incredibly intelligent and he has a phenomenal memory. He had virtually no education from a school, but don’t let that fool you because he’s owt but ill educated. He doesn’t do much physical work these days, but when anything is causing problems for anyone else in the family he is the first one they go to for help, and usually he can solve the problem. He will appreciate your company from time to time, and the convention in these parts is you call him granddad. As soon as your brother and sister are born, whom I intend to call Alan and Alexia, your brother will become Young Alan, his granddad will become Auld Alan and Auld Alan who you just met will be accorded a title that’s rather rare here. He will become Ancient Alan. He telt me he was grateful for me naming my son Alan, but he wouldn’t feel he had truly earnt the title till he turned a hundred. I don’t doubt that he will turn a hundred just out of sheer bloody mindedness if nowt else. The other thing about him is he is highly respected here for his ability to predict the weather better than the folk on the BBC.(14)
“However, back to your histories. If you wish me to ask questions in private I can do that, or I can ask what I need to know now and you can tell me the answers later when we are alone. Shall I do that?” Three heads nodded in response. “First if any of you were sexually abused I need to know as much detail as you are able to provide me with. I’m sure you’re old enough to know what I am referring to, but it also includes inappropriate conversations, inappropriate touching, inappropriate displays of nudity, and I mean of either you or some one else, and being shewn inappropriate images by which I mean pornography both printed material and video. Shall I continue or does any wish to answer me?” The boys all declared that nothing like that had ever happened to them, but that the reasons they had run away was because they had been badly beaten on a regular basis. They had met up when scrounging for food behind a small supermarket a while back and had been together ever since. “I see. Do any of you still have bruises or other evidence of that?” All three nodded in agreement.
“I expected that, so I have Sun our family doctor ready to examine you and take photographs. He’ll wish to have you down at the surgery tomorrow for xrays to check that any damaged bones are healing properly and to provide evidence of previous abuse. He’s in the house talking to your gran, so I’ll go and fetch him. One of the reasons we’re in this room is that there is a well lit room next to it where he can examine you in privacy and the light is good enough to take decent photographs good enough for me to use in court if I need to. I’ll just go and fetch him. Okay?”
“Flynn with a scared look on his face asked, “Mum, will you be with me when he examines me. Please?” The last was clearly a plea.
“If you wish, but he will wish to examine and photograph your entire body, so you will be completely naked including your genitals. I’m sure it will be embarrassing enough with just Dr Wing. Are you sure you wish me to see you like that?”
“You’re my mum now aren’t you? So that’s okay isn’t it? Please.”
“As long as you’re sure it’s what you want, that’s fine. Yes I’m your mum if you wish me to be, so it’ll be okay, but if you like I can fetch your dad. He’s a man, so maybe that will be easier for you.”
“No. I want you, Mum.”
“Okay. Me it is.”
As Jym turned to fetch Sun she heard two tiny voices saying, “Me too, Mum. Please.”
She turned back, smiled and replied, “Okay. Mum it is.”
Just over an hour later they were all back in the room with the fire with Sun who was looking at his notes and scrolling through the photos on his camera. “There’s evidence on all three boys of serious physical abuse going back many months that I can tell even without benefit of xrays. Flynn has a badly set femur, if it were set at all which I doubt, that will have to have the two bone ends, which are trying to rejoin themselves, separated and then aligned and set under a general anæsthetic. From the feel of it that won’t be difficult because the bone has started to knit together so badly that there will be no strength to the join. I suspect that means that surgery to get sufficient purchase on the two bone sections to separate them will not be necessary. I’m not an orthopaedic surgeon, but I suspect a week rather than several weeks in hospital because they will be able to separate and properly set the bone from the outside.” When working on Flynn’s leg Sun had hurt Flynn badly enough to make him cry. Sun had apologised immediately and said, “I’m sorry about that, Flynn, but at least I now know what needs to be done to mend your leg properly.
“Jym, I’ll have all that we shall have, including Flynn’s xrays, compiled ready for you by tomorrow evening, so you can match it all up with what the boys tell you. I want all three boys at the surgery tomorrow first thing, first for their xrays, starting with Flynn’s, and then so Abbey can make an independent assessment of all three boys, so none can say it’s just my view, and as soon as possible I’ll want the boys taken to The Royal Lancaster Infirmary where they have more sophisticated xray equipment than I do and Flynn’s leg can be dealt with. I want to arrange that as soon as possible, so that the bone doesn’t have any more time to set incorrectly than can be avoided. I say Lancaster not Carlisle because there are a few folk there who owe me favours, so I can have what needs done done quickly. I’ll let you all know what’s happening as soon as I know owt. Congratulations all of you and Grant too, Jym. I’ll be off and allow the circus of relatives to begin, so you can all eat as soon as possible. Bye.”
Jym hugged Flynn again and asked, “Does it still hurt, Love?” When Flynn sniffed and shook his head she informed them, “Doctor Abbey Cartwright who you will be seeing tomorrow is doctor Wing’s medical partner. Abbey is a lady doctor as you probably gathered. She will wish to do everything that Doctor Wing did, so that there are two independent examinations for me to present to the court if necessary. She’s a nice lady and is married to a man called Arathane who rescues children like you from the streets all over the country and in Ireland too. He does what Al did for you every day. Again if you wish either me or your dad with you it’s your choice, but you don’t have to have either of us, and you don’t have to make your mind up till tomorrow.”
The boys all said variations of, “I want you there, Mum. Please. It wasn’t nice but I felt better with you holding my hand.”
Flynn added, “That really hurt my leg, but I’ll be okay with you there, Mum. If they do xray photographs of my leg will that lady doctor have to hurt my leg too?”
“I don’t know, Love, but we can always ask that if it’s not necessary can we miss that bit out, okay?” Flynn nodded with a wan smile,
“Well that’s one unpleasant experience over. Question is are you ready to meet the family now, Lads? I reckon it’ll be best to get it all over with and then we can eat. You must be starving.”
That required speech rather than just nods. It was a baptism of fire for there were over two dozen members of the family all eager to meet Grant and Jym’s sons who were their new relatives too. The lads were telt the persons present did not include all who lived there by any means, and that there were probably meeting less than half of the folk who lived at Wood End Farm. The lads had never eaten goose before, but agreed it was delicious. Grant telt them, “Your gran,” he pointed to Veronica, “my mum, is a certified, top class, cordon bleu chef with diploma’s and certificates to prove it, but mostly she cooks here and in the local pub. Which means we eat exceedingly well here. After dinner I’ll shew you your rooms, find your phones and explain how to log on to your laptops, by which time you’ll probably be ready for some sleep. I’m not sure what’s happening over the weekend, but we can discuss that at breakfast tomorrow which I believe your Auntie Groa is cooking. She’s my eldest sister and is not here at the moment.”
The boys were fascinated by the activities that went on at the farm. For all three of them it was paradise, and despite them seeming to spend all of that first weekend toting hay and other feed to animals in the biting cold they had thoroughly enjoyed themselves. They were amazed that the numerous large drinking tanks which were all about eight feet in diameter had liquid water in them when everything around them was frozen solid. Their dad explained, “The drinkers all have automatic electric heaters in them and the water pipes enter them from three feet down underneath their centre. They were all installed by my dad and uncles after our last bad winter when everyone here spent virtually all day heating water for the animals to drink. I was still at primary school then. I was probably nine. There’s a huge bank of batteries in one of the barns that get charged up by the windmills on top of the buildings that provides the power. If there’s no wind for a long time we can use a diesel generator that runs on rapeseed oil these days to charge the batteries, but the last time that was necessary was a good few years ago. It was before I left school.”
The following Monday school did not happen for the lads, for that was a day trip to Lancaster for Ethan and Trent. For Flynn it began an eight day stay in a hospital bed after the operation on his leg which was done at half past one on that Monday afternoon. He didn’t remember anything of the Monday after his operation and spent all of Tuesday dozing. By Wednesday afternoon he was bored and was glad his laptop enabled him to log on to his lessons at school. Wednesday evening he decided that television was rubbish and he caught up with most of his missed lessons. He took part in school lessons remotely on Thursday and caught up with the rest of his missed lessons on Thursday evening. On Friday again he took part in lessons. By the end of the week’s school he was completely up to date with his lessons and all bar his weekend home work and had started to wonder what he was going to do till school on Monday. Not willing to suffer the tedium of television he finished his weekend homework by lunchtime and after lunch started exploring Youtube and the school’s intranet which was where to his relief he discovered craft videos which occupied him for the entire weekend. He attended virtual school all day Monday and much to his surprise at ten past four his doctors told him that after his last xray he was being discharged and his mum would be coming for him tomorrow.
He was amazed to see Auld Alan walk in when he was sitting on his bed waiting to be collected to go home. “Where’s Mum, Grandad?”
“She’ll be here as soon as she has signed all the paperwork to get you out of here. How’s the leg, Son?” the old man asked.
“It only hurts a bit now, but it’s a different hurt from walking on it before. This I know will get better. The other hurt was there all the time, but this comes and goes. I’m really glad to be going home. I never thought I’d ever be saying that I missed school, Granddad, but this place is so completely boring that I attended school every day on my laptop. For the first time in my life I’m completely up to date with my homework. It’s embarrassing really. But there’s nothing to do here, and you were right about the telly. It’s just rubbish. I spent most of my time on my laptop at school, and over the weekend I was on it watching blacksmiths, carpenters and other tradesmen and women too. I discovered I like watching people mend stuff. I watched some of Mr Fenwick’s agriculture lessons too. A lot of it went over my head, but I enjoyed them anyway, especially the ones about keeping pigs. I watched one where Mr Thorp was making sausages, that was good. Do they really call him Vince the Mince?” Alan chuckled and nodded. “But for my laptop I’d have gone off my head, because the other kids here only talk about stuff that’s pointless. Fortunately they left me alone when they realised I was doing lessons. The cheek of it! One called me a swot!(15) I’d have hit him, but I couldn’t move. One of the doctors had the nerve to say I must be a straight As student. I soon put him straight, on a good day I can do Cs.”
As Jym was hugging and kissing him he’d reached the part of his tale about being embarrassed by being up to date with his homework which had made her and Alan laugh and she’d solemnly promised not to tell his brothers who were both straight As students.
“The doctors say the splints can come off after four weeks, but I have to be careful for at least six months probably more like twelve and I have to use the crutches for at least three months. I’m not allowed to do games or gym at school and no heavy farm work till they say so, which means more xrays, but at least doctor Wing can do the xrays at home and send them here on the internet. Mind I think I’ll be okay feeding animals if I use a wheelbarrow. No sport or games is really bad because I like playing football [soccer]. May be I can play cricket in the summer? I’ll ask.” Alan muttered something under his breath. “What was that you said, Granddad? Sorry, but I couldn’t hear you.”
“Never you mind what I said. You shouldn’t be knowing about never mind using words like that at your age. There’s an ancient language mostly spoken by the hill shepherds and the drystun(16) wallers called High Fell. It’s mostly an old Viking tongue. I speak it too. A lot of auld bodies(17) in the village do. It’s what I use to swear in so the womenfolk like your mum don’t give me too much of a hard time. If you’re interested some of the kids at Bearthwaite produce comics and one of ’em, a lad called Kåre, translates the words into High Fell, so they can print a different edition for the apprentices that work up on the tops. Most of ’em came to us from outside like you and your brothers and a lot of ’em couldn’t read right well due to having missed most of their schooling. They enjoy the comics because it’s an enjoyable way to learn reading, and since they mostly speak High Fell up there Kåre decided to translate the English versions of the comics into High Fell, so they can compare them. Kåre is a shepherd hisel(18) from a family that have bin shepherds forever here. It was a kindly thing to do. So what we doing? You walking yourself out of here like a cripple on those stick things which will tek forever, or am I tekin you out in style in that there chariot which will be demeaning, but at least it will get you the hell out of this spot gey rapid like?”
“You’ve got a point there, Granddad, so let’s go for the wheelchair.”
“Good Lad.”
Seeing Alan’s age one of the nurses was going to intervene and push the wheel chair, but was stopped by Jym who said, “Don’t do it, Lass. They’ll get on far better on their own. That’s Flynn’s great great granddad. He’s nigh to a hundred, and he’ll manage Flynn far more skilfully than either of us could, but for him Flynn would have insisted on trying to walk out on crutches.” As they left still accompanied by the nurse who was shocked to hear the two males discussing celebrating Flynn’s escape from the institution with a glass of malt whisky Jym shrugged her shoulders and said, “Men! They could just be winding us up, then again they could be serious. It’s best just to pretend we haven’t heard them.”
“How did his leg get broken if I may ask?”
“My husband and I are in the process of adopting not just Flynn but two other boys too from off the streets of Lincoln. All the same age. All had run away from serious abuse. I wouldn’t bother reporting the matter because it’ll only end up on my desk anyway. I’m Jym Peabody née Rosehill. I’m a senior child abuse investigator with NCSG and believe me you can’t possibly want to nail the animal that did that to Flynn as badly as I do.”
“I’ve heard of you. You used to be military police didn’t you?”
“Aye that’s me. Now I’m a part time farmer and dairyman’s wife and still a full time child abuse investigator, and that’s my son someone hurt, and I’m a twenty-four seven mum too.”
“You must be very proud of him the way he studies.”
Jym laught and replied, “Don’t let Flynn hear you say that. He’d be mortified. He only studied here because he was bored. He’s far more interested in pigs than he is in school.” Little did Jym realise her words would prove to be prophetic.
Once at school, life was fine for the lads, even Flynn, for whom school had never been a favourite activity, started to enjoy himself there now that he knew he could be moderately successful with a degree of application. When his brothers were playing games or in the Gym he went to the workshops and joined classes of older boys where he enjoyed himself doing practical things at which to his surprise he discovered he had a natural aptitude. Out of school the lads’ favourite family members after their mum and dad were Auld Alan and their Uncle Gunni. The lads were all interested in pigs which were an endless source of amusement and entertainment to them. One evening some six weeks after their adoption the lads paid a visit to Auld Alan’s parlour after dinner. “Sit you down, Lads. It’s good to see you. So what have you got to entertain me with the night?”
Ethan was the one to respond and he said, “We want to buy some pigs, Granddad. There’s a woman down in the south of the county somewhere who has bred a litter of pigs that are a ninety-nine point nine six percent match for the DNA of the extinct Cumberland pig. Trent read an article about her in the newspaper. She’s struggling to keep her pigs going due to lack of financial support and lack of practical help too. This weather is making things really difficult for her because she has to keep the pigs inside and they need more feed since they can’t ratch for any for themselves. The internet says Cumberland pigs grow to an enormous size and have a very high fat content which is why they became extinct in nineteen sixty when the market was for leaner pigs. We’d like to give her some financial support, because she’s a widow with no family. We’d like to breed them here too, because they are incredibly hardy and although most pigs are okay in the cold they don’t like damp weather. Cumberland pigs don’t like damp either, but they cope with it better than any other breed which is ideal for here. This is part of where the breed originated and Uncle Vincent said he remembered the breed well and missed the fatty carcasses which he would still be happy to buy and use because in his opinion they are the perfect pig for fatty sausages and bacon which most of the farming men here enjoy for breakfast on their way to work. He said Auntie Aggie as cooks breakfasts in the Dragon would tek anything he could mek.
“You seem to have done your homework, Lads. How much money do you want for that widow woman? and how much for the pigs?”
Flynn took up the tale, “We don’t really know, Granddad. That’s why we came to see you. We know decent pure bred pigs with a pedigree can cost up to five hundred pounds each and we’d like four sows and a boar to start with so that could be up to two and a half thousand. Maybe five to help the woman out and see if she’d let us have the pigs a bit cheaper. But we don’t know. Would you help us to talk to her? We don’t want to be ripped off, but we do want to help her, and we do want to breed Cumberland pigs, and she is the only source of them that we know about.”
“That all seems reasonable, for even if it’s seven and a half it’s not a huge amount of money. I paid more than twenty times that for a decent bull over sixty-five years since, and I’ve never regretted it. I’ll give her a phone call for you and explain the score and see where it gets us. I mind Cumberland pigs too. I wouldn’t mind a full breakfast with sausage and fatty bacon(19) tasting like I mind it tasting years ago. Good project, Lads. I appreciate you asking me for help. I need new challenges to keep my gray cells going. Gunni will be okay about it. I’ll ask him to have a fifty hectare spot fenced for you to keep ’em in. He’ll know the best kind of ground to put ’em on in this weather and he’ll have any number of spare portable sties for ’em even if he has to use calf hutches. That leg of yours okay, Son? You seemed to be favvouring(20) it a bit when you came in.”
Flynn replied grinning, “It’s my own fault, Granddad. It’s getting a lot better, but the betterer(21) it gets the more I do that I shouldn’t. I’ll take a couple of pills before I go to bed.” Flynn laught and said, “That way I’ll get enough sleep to be able to ill treat my leg some more tomorrow too.”
“Trent, be a good lad and fetch me that whisky bottle and four glasses. Don’t bother with the watter jug.” Alan poured himself a large glass and put maybe a double in each of the three other glasses. “Here’s to Cumberland pigs and lads as just plough through the pain because they ain’t got enough sense to at least try go easy on themselves. I was just the same. Happen any of us worth calling men were at some point in our lives. Drink your whisky, Lads. Just go easy with it. Tek a sip straight first them add some watter if you want. Flynn if you take another to bed with you I reckon you won’t need those pills. Don’t trust the damned things mysel. Pain killer from a bottle I reckon is far safer, and it sure as hell tastes a damn sight better.”
Jym said to Veronica, her mother in law, when she found out that her sons had been drinking straight Islay malt with Auld Alan, “The young and the old, there’s no doing anything with either of them, Mum, and when you put them together you may as well give up, for there’s no reasoning nor remonstrating with them at all.” She’d been seriously put out when she’d realised there wasn’t a male in the family that would agree with her never mind do anything about the situation. It had created a bit of tension between her and Grant for a day or two.
Veronica had said, “Ah well, I suppose they’re growing up and it won’t be long before they’re every bit as bad as Grant and his brothers, Love. There’s nay point is getting hot under the collar about it for you’ll never change owt. It’s just how men are, and all boys get there sooner or later, and all know that farm lads get there a lot sooner than others because farming makes them grow up faster due to the responsibilities they take on. Just you wait till they become interested in lasses, for they’ll become much worse to deal with overnight, and think on they’ll get nay better till they’re wed and sharing a bed with their wives. At which point they’ll be their wives’ problems not yours. Best thing to do is find them lasses you can get along with rather than leaving it to chance. I’ll start looking into the matter for you. In the meantime, pick your battles, Love, and only dig your heels in when it’s a fight worth winning and one over a glass or two of whisky isn’t a fight worth winning because soon enough they’ll be drinking strong liquor by the bucket in the taproom down at the Dragon which is not a spot any decent lass ever wants to find herself in. Cup of tea?”
Young Alan’s brother, the lads’ great Uncle Hugo, had been summoned by his grandfather Auld Alan. Hugo was fifty and had been a widower for three years. “You ready to move on, Son? I’m not pressing you if you’re not, but I have a proposition to put to you if you are.”
Hugo was bright and knew what was going on, so he said, “I suppose I am, Granddad. I hadn’t thought about it and it’s not as if I’m desperate for a wife. You’ve bin on your own for twenty-odd years since Gran died and if that’s not bin at least okay you’ve never said owt to any of us. Who is she that you’re thinking on?”
“A fair point, Lad. I still miss Ɖelmarra, but I can’t say that life’s ever bin a misery since I got over her passing. Her last six months made me gey upset. I was gutted when she died, but after that I didn’t have to watch her either in pain or away with the færies due to the pain killers. However, this situation is different because it potentially has a gey many facets to it. You could maybe say it’s a diamond in the rough wanting a skilled hand to bring out the brilliant cut that lies at the heart of it. Bugger me, Lad, that was a bit poetic even for an incurable romantic like me. Any roads cutting to the chase, Grant’s young uns(22) want to breed Cumberland pigs. Vincent and Aggie are interested and so am I. There’s a widow woman down Ulverston way. She’s fifty-four and lost her man ten years over to a heart attack. She’s a decent lass, was a good wife, never even looked at another man and as far as I can tell, and I spent a deal o’ brass(23) looking into the matter, she’s kept hersel pure since her auld man died. She’s had plenty of offers because she owns the land which is just short of twa hunert acres of top quality, low altitude, grazing land, but none with a wedding band attached. She must a bin tempted when her auld man was above ground because she never managed to have any bairns and many a lass would have looked elsewhere even if it were only for a bairn. Story is she was a looker as a young lass and she still is and has the same waistline she did thirty-odd year since. Here tek a look at this photo that was teken just a few days back.
“The key issue for the youngsters is that to keep herself busy, and I’d be surprised if it weren’t to help her avoid the memories too, she’s bin working on recreating the Cumberland pig as went to the wall(24) not long afore you were born. Seems she’s got a ninety-nine point nine six percent DNA match on samples from museums and the like. She’s running short on cash and even shorter on help. This cold can’t be helping her either, for the pigs won’t be finding(25) any bait(26) for themselves outside. The youngsters want four sows and a boar and to give her five grand to help her out. She’s the only source of the pigs and obviously the only expert on ’em too. Cumberlands were girt(27) big buggers and had a lot of fat on ’em. Vincent and Aggie are gey interested for the breakfast lads and so am I for my breakfast. Better by far than to give her a poxy five grand would be to give her a life, a future and have her move here, along with her pigs and owt else she wants(28) to bring too. Bugger what it costs, for we can stand it. This is our legacy, the Peabody legacy we’re talking about and she’s a fine and decent lass as would make the family proud. Think you can pull it off, Lad?”
“There’re two chances, Granddad. Aye and nay, but I’m more than willing to give it a go. She’s a good looking woman as ’ould mek many a widower envious, and from what you said she’s a decent lass. Aye, I’m interested, and thinking on it I should like a wife, they’re someone to talk to when you’re full of it, but can’t see it for yoursel, and a good missus puts you down gentler than other folk, even other women, and she does it in private. What do you reckon? Tell her it like it is and all up front?”
“Ay, Lad. Owt else would be gey insulting, and could, probably would, eventually bite you in the arse. Maybe the rest of us too. Best say nowt to Grant’s lads for the now though. Murray says if you can mek it work Beebell will give her a good price for the farm and use it as the first step in extending our influence both economic and political throughout what was Cumbria. We don’t have owt that far south, but he reckons we need to be extending oursels. We’re solidly entrenched in these parts and have plenty of suitable youngsters as ’ould be more than willing to tek on a farm in Furness. Murray reckons to support owt up to a dozen of ’em down there to mek sure it works, a beachhead he called it, and said it doesn’t have to shew a profit just establish our presence there. He also said that given that Westmorland & Furness is the one county now we already have some political clout down there. He seemed to think that if you could pull this off it would be a major step forward on any number of fronts.”
None were ever to find out how Hugo had persuaded Ada Coombs née Sideshore to become Ada Peabody. The wedding had been performed by Chance in the Bearthwaite church with only Peabody clan members in attendance. Auld Alan had given the bride away and Young Alan had been Hugo’s best man. The ceremony may have been a low key affair, but the reception held at the farm in a huge barn, with bonfires at each end had been a massive affair with the entire community invited. It had been bitterly cold, but dry and calm, so it had been an enjoyable and unexpected party. Ada and Hugo made a good couple, not least because Ada, descended from a long line of farmers, had spent her life as the daughter of one farmer, the wife of another and then a struggling farmer on her own, before, much to her joy and relief, becoming the wife of another farmer. There was little if any element of a working marriage between Hugo and Ada, or at least no more so than in any marriage. It was certainly no marriage of convenience, and as Ada had said to Hugo in the privacy of their bed, “We may not be as ardent as we once were, Love, but it is an enjoyable way to spend an evening before one gives in to sleep isn’t it?”
All of the Peabody clan considered Ada to be a definite asset to them all, not least because she was exceeding good at calming arguments between some of the more excitable members of the family. Ada was a small cheerful woman, tiny compared with Hugo, wringing wet through there wasn’t eight stone of her [50Kg, 112 pounds], and she was impossible to fall out with. Too, she was passionate about Cumberland pigs. Grant and Jym’s three lads thought she was wonderful and called her Granny Ada rather than Auntie Ada, but they called all of the family folk of their granddad’s, Young Alan’s, generation or above Granny or Granddad too. By the time Ancient Alan had in his own eyes deserved the title of Ancient the lads had a hundred Cumberlands and the last remaining point zero four percent of non Cumberland DNA had been bred out of the herd. Vincent had said it wasn’t that it had been bred out, so much as eaten out, but as Aggie had added, the breakfast lads had thoroughly enjoyed the process, both sausage and bacon. The three boys had only ever eaten the factory made black pudding that Fionulla had fed them before which they had enjoyed, but they came across the real thing with absolutely no chemical additives as made by Vincent for the first time at breakfast about a fortnight after moving to Bearthwaite. “This,” declared Flynn, “is the best reason I can think of for keeping pigs for eating. Haggis is good, but it can’t compare with this, though we haven’t had any of Uncle Vincent’s haggis yet. What’s in it, Gran?”
Veronica replied, “Traditionally it’s made with pigs blood, but I know Vincent uses whatever blood he’s got because he says it all tastes the same. Back fat of pig, and that has to be pig, which is one of the reasons he’ll be gey glad to tek your Cumberland pigs because he says the back fat off them is plentiful and tasty. A mixture of oatmeal and stale breadcrumbs, exactly how much of which depends on what he’s got available, onions fine chopped with some of them whizzed to a pulp in a blender. Again how much of each depends on how dry his mix is. If he needs to let it down to slacken it a bit he whizzes more onions, if the mix is a bit sloppy he chops more and adds more crumb and meal. Salt obviously and herbs and spices which always include pepper, you can taste it, and the rest depends on seasonal availability because he won’t spend a gey load of money on spices that he then has to pass on to folk, many of who can’t afford it. These days they use some local grown chilli as a partial replacement for pepper. The seeds are caraway, coriander and lovage usually, but often other locally grown seeds too. I know because he tells me and Aggie too what he’s doing if he wants some feedback from them as eat it.”
Traditionally Cumberland sausage(29) had been made from Cumberland pigs. The pork was chopped not minced [US ground], there was very little binder used, the sausage was produced in long lengths and often sold by length.(30) It was never linked, and in recent times had been sold, and often subsequently cooked, in a flat coil. It was usually made at an inch and a quarter [32mm] in diameter, much wider than most sausages, and was highly spiced.(31) Ada and Vincent didn’t wish all of their sausages to be called Cumberland sausage entitled to claim the PGI(32) mark which was a protected designation with a tightly defined description which included a minimum eighty percent meat content. Ada and Vincent wished to produce such sausage which could claim the PGI mark with a ninety-five percent meat content, but they also wished to produce a much fattier sausage too. In the UK porcine meat is legally allowed to contain thirty percent fat and twenty-five percent collagen and just be labelled as pork, so even a sausage that was entitled to bear the PGI mark could be no more than thirty-six percent lean meat.
Much so called Cumberland sausage was sold in the UK without the PGI mark and often contained no more than eighteen point nine percent lean meat. At forty-two percent meat, the minimum allowed for a product to be called a pork sausage, such a product was the pair considered a poor one, though Richmond, one of the largest sausage manufacturers in the UK, was a household name selling such sausages in vast quantities. Vincent’s opinion, which Ada agreed with was, “Folk these days know no better.” They decided to go for a sausage that was essentially fifty percent fat and forty five percent lean meat which would probably contain five to ten percent collagen with the addition of two percent binder and three percent spices. They did their calculations and such a sausage would contain forty-five percent of lean and collagen and eleven point two five percent fat that could legally count to the meat content. That meant a fifty-six point two five percent meat content plus five percent binder and spices including salt and an extra thirty-eight point seven five percent fat. Legally it could be called a pork sausage though the extra fat had to be declared as an ingredient. Their intention was to produce it coiled at an inch and a quarter the same as the Cumberland, and Vincent would sell it by length as he did the Cumberland. They just needed a good name for the product.
Ada had solved that one. “These are pigs I resurrected from the grave of extinction and I did it when I farmed near Ulverston which is in Furness, so why don’t we rename them. The purists insist that nothing extinct can be recovered, so let’s forget the Cumberland pig and call them the Furness pig. We can legally sell and call the Cumberland PGI sausage Cumberland. None else is producing Cumberland sausage from Cumberland pigs and any number of breeds are used even in Cumbria. The fatty breakfast sausage we can call Furness Sausage. Same with the meat, Furness bacon, Furness hams and so on. If they are selt packaged they can have the explanations of the breed’s history on the label. Owt that you sell either in the shop or from the vans can be said to be from Furness pigs. Seeing as how we’re breeding them here in Westmorland as yance ower was Cumberland that will upset some folk for sure, especially the ones who insist that Furness is still in Lancashire, but there’s nowt they can do about it. I didn’t set out to recreate the Cumberlands to make townies(33) who’ve never bred a pig in their lives happy.”
Furness Sausage – 95% from Furness pigs Cumberland Sausage – 95% from Furness pigs
56·25% pork meat 95% pork meat
38·75% pork back fat Which contains pork back fat
1·2% rusk binder 1·2% rusk binder
2% salt 2% salt
1·8% mixed spices according to availability 1·8% mixed spices according to availability
A tiny proportion of the spices are imported A tiny proportion of the spices are imported
The Furnace pig is the modern day recreated Cumberland pig. They are so close that even modern DNA analysis can’t tell the difference. Starting with the descendants of the Cumberland pig which became extinct in 1960 at Bothel, the breed was gradually recreated by careful breeding and repeated DNA comparisons with DNA from museum samples. Currently the only source of the Furness pig is from the Peabody farm in the Bearthwaite Valley. The Furness Sausage you are about to enjoy is a recreation of the somewhat fattier sausages eaten by agricultural workers in days gone by. Traditionally made using chopped rather than minced high quality meat and best quality back fat the Furness sausage is a high fat content, calorie rich sausage bursting with the tastes of sausages from a bygone era. Using mostly locally grown spices and stuffed into locally produced natural casings the Furness Sausage is produced to the same exacting standards as it’s leaner cousin the Cumberland sausage also produced on the same premises from the same herd of pigs. Why not try some of each to see which you prefer? Cumberland Sausages may legally be produced using pork from any breed of pig, but those you are about to enjoy are made from descendants of the original Cumberland Pig. Real Cumberland Sausage made from real Cumberland pigs and real Furness Sausage made from real Furness pigs. For a real treat eat our sausages with some of the many specially formulated and exquisitely cooked sauces of the past and more recent days too produced by the Bearthwaite Old Bobbin Mill Kitchens. Look for the Bearthwaite Valley Logo for your taste of what your ancestors ate.
“Doubtless, we’ll improve on the labels with time, Vincent, but I reckon these will be fine till we do. Christine and her cooks are going to be thinking of what we can do for what they produce. You okay with this one for the sausages?”
“Aye, Ada. I’ve got a bigger one hanging up in the shop for visitors to read, and the delivery vans have one inside and another pair painted on the van sides. They’re using the sausage label as a logo for Bearthwaite Valley Community Products. Funny ain’t it? My first van was just used to wholesale stuff to the smaller village butchers. Then we started delivering stuff for Dave and then Christine too. Now we deliver boots, shoes, clothes and owt any wants as we mek. A lot of those butchers were old men wanting to retire. Murray bought many of them out and the local stores too. The very smallest were closed and we supplied the villages weekly by van like the coöp did nearly a century ago. The others Murray found folk to staff. Most ain’t butchers and I do all that, but I’m training up some apprentices too. Some of the shops we’ve reopened as general stores selling pre butched meat as well as general goods. We supply them with everything, including what little we have to buy in from outside, though our own produce sells better because it’s quality food and much cheaper. Now they are washing and returning jars we can save them a few pennies there too. We currently have six vans and they are doing a weekly delivery. They are working six days a week using eight drivers. Murray is looking for another couple of drivers.
“The locals all know what the sausages are, but I reckon it was a clever idea using the same label with details of both sausages on it. A lot of the villagers we deliver to by van, Bearthwaite folk and the outsiders too, reckon that although the vans offer less choice than say a big supermarket, they don’t have to drive thirty miles to go shopping and then the same on their return. They also say that most of the so called choice offered by supermarkets isn’t really because they don’t even know anyone who buys a lot of it, and a dozen different brands of the same food item, say a jar of tomato sauce for cooking with or a can of fruit pie filling, isn’t choice, especially when they buy ours because it’s half the price of the next cheapest offered in a supermarket. Everything we sell off the vans is stuff they buy regularly including things they can’t buy anywhere else, haggis, black puddings, tripe, brawn and all sorts of stuff in tins and jars produced by Christine’s staff. The vans are now tekin out five gallon of steak and kidney pie filling ready cooked that morning and it all sells.
“Folk can order flours and breakfast cereals milled or made up any way they like for the following week along with owt else they want and it’s all delivered to the door. The older folk reckon it’s a huge improvement going back to a better life when the coöp van delivered. Mind we deliver every week not once a fortnight like as the coöp van did. You’d be amazed at how many younger mums have said they are grateful because they can now keep house much cheaper, and Christine’s jars of baby food are a huge seller. What some folk are saying about young lasses not able to cook and keep house may well be true in the towns and cities, but it certainly ain’t in the villages. Alf says the same about lads not being able to shape themselves wi’ tools and the like to fettle stuff. The village lads, especially those from farms, are fine, though again most from the towns and cities haven’t got a clue. What’s even more surprising is a significant number of outsiders of all ages in the villages and hamlets are becoming Bearthwaite folk quite rapidly. It’s not just a matter of extending our social influence, they all say we are the only folk who’ve ever improved their lives and that they will vote our way.”
When the day came, Ancient Alan would insist that his century birthday breakfast had to include three decent sized rashers of his favourite fatty bacon along side his two Furness sausages and his single Cumberland sausage. His slice of fried bread he insisted had to have been fried in the fat rendered out of his bacon as it cooked. Eventually the Furness pig would make a huge comeback on behalf of the Cumberland pig, and before many years would go by they would be being bred in many places, mostly in Cumberland, Westmorland, Furness and Northumberland. There would be a few bred south or north of that area, though interest from Scotland was to steadily increase due to the incredible hardiness of the breed even if they were slow growing. By then many folk had long referred to them as Peabody pigs which had indeed been Ancient Alan’s legacy. But all that was for the future.
It would be many years before the three boys found out what their mum had done to their original family members who’d hurt them, but as Ethan had said, “Your sperm donor will be eligible for parole soon, Flynn. Maybe he’ll be out of hospital by then.”
Ben Gillis was living in number forty-nine Mill Terrace with his newly acquired wife Yasmina, one of the refugee women who was nineteen. Yasmina was a hobby photographer who had turned that into a living working with Ben. Ben reckoned he’d done well for himself as the Bearthwaite reporter and publicist considering he was only twenty-two. Yasmina thought she had done very well indeed having escaped an arranged marriage as a second wife to a Pakistani extremist who was in his fifties. The couple were looking into the adoption of some young children, either rescued unofficially from hell off the streets or from the different kinds of official hells that sadly provided NCSG’s more usual clientele.
“It was an outraged Ben and Yasmina who had been contacted by NCSG. Jess McLeod the NCSG case worker opened with the blunt far end of things as was her wont, “We have three children for you. We thought at first that we had three little boys, but it turns out there are two boys and a girl. Nathan is four, Lance is six. The child who told the Social Workers she was five gave her name as Kirk, so since she was dressed as a boy and had her hair cut like a boy they presumed she was a boy. Social Services were first apprised of the children by the Local Education Authority because Lance had never gone to school and no alternative education arrangements had been made. When they went round to the house they were refused admission. They applied for a court order and went round accompanied by the police who had to break the door down for them to gain admission. The place was a filthy slum. The parents were crack heads and wrecked when the police forced an entry. The children were starving and half naked, and all shewed signs of having been beaten regularly. Social Services applied for an immediate removal order by phone and left the parents to the police.
“The children were taken to the local pædiatric unit where it was discovered Kirk was a girl, but had been raised as a boy. It’s not known why yet, may be it never will be because neither she nor her brothers have any idea. The child psychiatrists both said it is clear she knows she is a girl, but is deeply confused as to the implications of that because she’s never met any girls and only seen them on the television. She doesn’t seem to be aware of the physical differences between girls and boys and seems to see it as a matter of clothing. When they shewed her pictures of girls and boys of her age she gazed longingly at the girls in skirts, so may be the matter will not be as complex to deal with as some folk seem to think. Despite that, Germain Cameron said her staff were completely out of their depth dealing with such a matter and angered some of them when she passed the children into our care and informed the courts she had done so. Two of them behaved in such a way as to warrant instant dismissal. No prizes for guessing what Germain did, but she’s currently advertising for more staff. She told me she hasn’t cleared out all the bigots in her staff yet which was a major reason she passed the children over to us, the other was she reckoned Bearthwaite folk would do better on behalf of all three of the kids than any else she knew of.
“We’ll be bringing the children to you late this afternoon. The children have been bathed and their injuries are all deep, very deep in some cases, bruises. Fortunately none have any bone damage. The pædiatricians say the bruises will all heal with time and require no further treatment, but they would like to see the children in a month. We’ll bring the appointment cards and a recommended diet sheet with us too. We were told the children may eat anything they like as long as they eat what’s on the diet sheets too. So chocolates and sweets are okay. I’d ask Beth about sweets. She’ll know what kids like that don’t do any damage to their teeth. NCSG office staff have managed to find the children all some decent clothes, but Kirk was unwilling to wear anything but trousers and a tee shirt. Lance told us she was frightened she would be smacked if she wore a skirt. I suppose that’s a problem you will have to solve. I’d give her a new name, a really girlie one if I were you, but that’s your call. I forgot, the psychiatrists said she seemed envious of girls with long hair, but time will solve that. You’ll get a copy of all the medical and psychiatric reports eventually, but I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting were I you. To twist and paraphrase an ancient expression, ‘Though the mills of God grind exceedingly fine, they grind exceedingly slow,’(34) and the NHS is no faster.”
It was half past four when Jess turned up with her usual partner Jym Peabody who was married to Grant and lived at the family farm at Bearthwaite. The children were escorted into the large terraced house in the middle of Demesne Lane where the Gillis couple now lived. They’d moved from Mill Terrace into the bigger property when they’d applied to adopt children. Ben asked the boys in turn what their names were and solemnly shook hands with them, before turning and saying, “So you must be Katie.” Seeing the child smile and nod, Jess and Jym were amazed that the child they only knew as Kirk accepted that immediately.
“I used to be―”
Ben interrupted his daughter saying, “I know about that, and naturally if you insist on being Kirk that’s okay, but you look much more like a Katie than a Kirk to me. So which would you rather be, Poppet, because it’s entirely your choice.”
A small voice whispered, “I like Katie. It’s a nice name.”
Yasmina said, “I’m glad about that because I’ve only managed to find girls’ clothes in your size, but we’ll go shopping tomorrow and you can choose what you prefer. If you like jeans at least you can buy pretty ones made for girls. One of my friend’s daughters bought some really nice ones with Disney princesses embroidered on the sides, but we’ll have to see what we can find. Would you like to go shopping with some girls and boys who will be in your classes at school to help you choose what you want?”
The three all nodded, for they’d never been shopping for anything before. Nathan said, “I like cartoons. Could I have a cartoon on my tee shirt like I’ve seen boys on the telly wear?”
“Of course. What kind of a cartoon would you like best?” Nathan just shook his head not understanding the question.
Ben said, “I’ll take you up to your rooms. There is one each if you like or you boys could share. What would you like?”
A tearful Katie insisting, “I want to be with my brothers,” startled the NCSG staff, but a completely unphased Yasmina said, “Of course, if that’s what makes you happy. I have to ask do you wish to stay here as our children? You don’t have to decide right now, for there is no rush, and you can take as long as you want to decide. If it takes a long time for you to decide that’s fine, but it will make it easier for us all to protect you if Jess and Jym know what you want as soon as possible.”
“Would you be our mum and dad?” Lance asked.
“Yes, We’d like that a lot, but it can only happen if you would like that too.”
Lance looked at his siblings for a few seconds and obviously some communication the adults were unaware of took place. “Yes we’d like that. All of us would like that.”
“Okay, your dad will take you to your room and put three beds in the largest bedroom. Jym and Jess will go with you to see that you have everything you need. They have to do that because it’s part of their jobs and they’d get into trouble if they didn’t. In the meanwhile I’ll be preparing dinner. Your doctors have given me a list of things for you to eat, but it’s not very exciting. I’ll do what I’ve been told and tonight I’ll cook baked potatoes with butter, but we’ll have some things to eat on top of them that will make them taste nicer and a fruit salad as well. Yoghurt and ice cream for pudding. And a glass of milk too, the milk is from the farm just up the way and it’s delicious. The doctors say you need to eat the yoghurt, but chocolate ice cream is more fun. Is that okay for you?”
A lot of what Yasmina had said the children hadn’t understood, but it sounded nice so they nodded their heads.
Leaving the children to ratch through the clothes, Ben, Jess and Jym came down to see Yasmina putting dinner on the table. “That looks to die for, Yasmina,” Jym said. “Where did you get the ideas from?”
“Where my family come from, other than the ice cream, this would be considered to be a rather pedestrian midweek meal. I wonder if the children would enjoy a chicken korma. It’s a very mild curry. I make all such from scratch, There are no cook in sauces in this house. That sort of food isn’t on the menu sheet, but I could serve it with things that are. I could make some fruit, seed and nut naans based on Peshawari naans that would hit a number of the items the children are supposed to eat and make up for using white rice rather than brown which is nowhere near as nice to eat.”
Jess said, “Would you like me to ask the dieticians to send you some information on the principles they are using to create that diet sheet so that you could adapt them to the style of food you are used to cooking, Yasmina, rather than that rather dogmatic and inflexible diet sheet that will have been printed out for folk with no brains who probably would feed the kids on junk food if they weren’t told any different? In all probability it will be rare that they deal with anybody who understands enough about food to actually cook any from real ingredients or indeed anyone who has much intelligence.”
“Please that would be helpful.”
“You know, I sometimes wonder how we coped before we discovered Bearthwaite. For sure a hugely disproportionate number of our clients end up here and they all start thriving so soon and their traumas recede so rapidly that even those of us who know the place are amazed, but thank goodness we did discover Bearthwaite. We need to be going, Yasmina. I’m on the twenty-four hour emergency phone line from eight till eight and I need to cook dinner for the hungry man and the even hungrier horde first. I always pray for a night where the most distressing event I experience is a really difficult crossword or sudoku, and thank the gods most times that’s what I get, but unfortunately not always.”
When the children came downstairs to eat Katie was in an ankle length, dark blue skirt and a pink tee shirt with appliqué ponies on it. Obviously nervous she asked, “Is this all right?”
Ben swept her up into his arms, kissed her and said, “You look really pretty, Katie. First dinner. Then I’m taking you two boys to look at the fish hatchery. It’s a cool place, and you can feed some of the fish. Katie, your mum is taking you to a place of feminine mysteries where men and boys fear to tread.”
“That dinner was really good, Mum. I like milk. I never had it before. What were the white things with the small brown stones in? I liked them a lot.”
“Lychees. They’re a foreign fruit, Lance. What you called stones are the seeds. Those were out of a tin, but sometimes I manage to get some fresh off the internet which you have to peel, or even hairy ones called rambutans. I shouldn’t really because we try not to buy things in from outside, but it’s a luxury I indulge myself with every now and again. Last year one of the lorry drivers brought half a ton of them from a London fruit and vegetable market. He was given them because the man thought they wouldn’t keep long enough for him to sell them. They were canned here and it was lychees out of one of those cans you ate tonight. There’re loads left at the mill and I’m sure there will be some in the shop too, so I’ll buy some more for you. Have any of you ever eaten curry?”
In response to three shaking heads Yasmina said, “Well you’ve got that to look forward to. I’ll cook some poppadom too. They’re like a big crisp [US chip] the size of a dinner plate.”
“Any chance of coney(35) rather than chicken, Love?” Ben asked.
“Okay, coney korma it is, so I’ll need to pick up five back leg joints from Vincent. Now you three get a coat on. It’ll be seriously cold out there. I’ll wash up whilst you get ready to go out. Boys, you and your dad will need wellies(36) because even though nearly everywhere is frozen solid the water from the hatchery makes mud round there before it freezes too. Your dad will ratch out some wellies that will fit you. Katie and I aren’t going anywhere near any mud, so we don’t need wellies, but I suggest you put a warm pair of outside shoes on, Katie, with some warm, woolly tights. We’ll see Uncle Eric Cranston sometime to have a pair of fur lined, knee high boots made in your size. Uncle Eric is a cobbler who makes high quality footwear. We’ll order some furry bedroom slippers for you too. Lads, your dad will take you to see him too some time because you too will need shoes for inside and outside. A pair of boots each would be a good idea too, though maybe the ladies who look after the out grown clothes will be able to provide something. Katie and I will be going to see what we can find tomorrow because it’s fun.”
“Where are you and Katie going tonight, Mum?”
“The hairdressers, Nathan. I need a trim and Katie needs something, but I’m not sure what. Auntie Ellery will know.”
The boys had enjoyed themselves enormously at the hatchery. They been amazed at how some of the fish made the water look like it were boiling when they’d threwn in just a hand full of fish food. The alien looking crayfish had spooked Nathan at first. “Do they bite?” he asked.
Ralph who was working there picked one up and said, “They can nip with their claws, but if you hold one like this they can’t reach anything to nip.” Nathan had considered it the act of a hero when he’d picked one up all by himself and Ben had taken some video on his phone to shew Yasmina and Katie.
Katie had been seated in a chair and telt not to wriggle. She’d no idea what was being done with her hair, but the full treatment that her nails had received was the most exciting experience of her life. In a matter of minutes her nails were much longer, not many more minutes had seen the first coat of nail varnish applied. She’d no idea what she’d talked about in between coats of varnish whilst it dried under the warm air blowers, but the time had seemed to pass quickly. When the sparkly bits and the tiny kittens had been stuck on top of the final coat of a really girly pale pink varnish she almost forgot to breath. She looked over to where her mum’s hair was being trimmed, highlighted, and dried and said,” You look really pretty, Mum.” When after what had seemed a long time she was finally allowed to look at her own hair she didn’t recognise herself at first. When after a few seconds she realised that the girl with the long hair was herself in a mirror and not some other girl she cried tears of joy.
“They’re called hair extensions, Love. Do you like the way you look?”
“It’s like magic! I’m a proper girl now. I was scared about going to school before with boys’ hair, but now I’m not. Thank you, Mum. Thank you.”
“No bother, Poppet, it goes with being a mum. I telt you Auntie Ellery would know what to do.”
Ellery who been informed as to the circumstances earlier whilst the children had been in their room said, “Bring Katie back in a fortnight, Yasmina. We’ll touch up her nails and be able to do a better job on her hair then. When you wash it use plenty of conditioner and leave it on for at least five minutes before washing it out regardless of how long it says to leave it on on the bottle. Her hair needs it. I’m expecting her hair to be in better condition next time. And I’ll have one of the younger girls do her toe nails.” She turned to Katie and said, “It’s hard work being a girl, Katie, keeping on top of your nails and hair. Fortunately at your age that’s all you need to do. However, take these. Eye shadow and lip gloss. If I catch you using owt else I’ll tek a hairbrush to your behind and give it a good paddling.” She kissed Katie’s forehead and repeated, “Back here in a fortnight, or else.”
Walking home Katie said, “Auntie Ellery is nice isn’t she, Mum? Am I really going back there in two weeks? And was she serious about doing my toe nails?”
“Yes, she’s very kind. You’ll be back in two weeks, and then probably at least once a month for the rest of your life. Yes Auntie Ellery was serious about your toes. It’s how she has her younger apprentices practice doing nails because a bit of a mistake on a toe nail isn’t as noticeable as a mistake on your finger nails. Like Auntie Ellery said it’s hard being a girl, but we have to do it, so we can keep the boys under control. Are you happy now being a girl and looking like one?”
Katie nodded and asked, “I never met any girls, or boys except Nathan and Lance. What do girls do, Mum?”
“Same as boys I suppose, whatever seems to be fun at the time, except their idea of fun is a bit weird. The other girls will shew you when you’re at school. Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine and all the girls in your class are really nice. The boys are too, but like I said boys are bit weird. They can’t help it, and they probably think we’re a bit weird too. Do you know what a sari is, Love?”
“Is that what foreign ladies wear? Like something that goes around them?”
“Indeed. I’m a foreign lady, and I wear one sometimes. Would you like one too, so we can wear one together on special occasions?” Katie eyes were shining as she nodded. “Okay. I’ll sort that out for you. Do you know I never realised being a mum could be so much fun.”
When Katie and Yasmina arrived home the boys and Ben were making a pot of tea. “Wow, Katie, you look amazing. Cool. What happened to your hair?”
“I don’t know, Lance, they wouldn’t let me see when they were doing it. Do like my nails?”
Nathan replied, “I suppose they’re all right. For a girl.” Katie had never thought about it before, but she considered her mum was right, boys were a bit weird, but at least she didn’t have to pretend to be one any more.
It was finally happening after seriously long delays. The company who had been contracted to do the pile driving for the extensions to the reservoir damn had experienced financial problems and couldn’t finance the initial work. They’d asked Chance for temporary financial assistance. Chance had naturally enough asked Adalheidis to look into the matter. It had taken her staff two months to find definitive evidence that they were not to be helped under any circumstances, but after a mere few days she’d telt Chance, “If it’s that damned hard to find out what’s going on they’re hiding something, Chance. So leave things to fester.” It turned out that the company was involved with some shady persons who had been syphoning the cash flow off to fund even shadier activities. “My bet is it’s drugs, Chance. Unfortunately we can’t just say bugger them and find another company to do the work because as it stands they can legitimately claim the work is theirs and that they are trying to sell the right to do the work. Our best bet is to either have their drugs connection made public and let the law deal with them, which is not totally satisfactory from our point of view because they’ll still own the contract, or I have someone look into who they owe money to and have you and Murray buy up those debts as cheaply as possible without revealing to any who is buying them.
“I reckon you’ll be able to do that for a shilling on the pound.”(37) Seeing the blank look on Chances face she said, “That’s five percent, Chance. If you buy up all their debts, and keep buying up any as fast as they appear, and trust me they’ll come out of nowhere like maggots out of a Permethrin(38) treated fly struck sheep, I’ll negotiate to buy up the dam contracts rights. They’ll refuse at the price I’ll offer which will be less than they’re prepared to accept, but I’ll leave enough wiggle room for them to believe a deal is doable. Having a viable interested buyer will keep them on the hook, so it’s unlikely they’ll bother to look for another buyer. I would, but they’re not that bright and like most folk they’ll buy into the easy way out that involves the least amount of effort. Unlike us they have no particular incentive to maximise their shareholders’ incomes, as long as they are shewing a decent profit it’ll do. Pathetic isn’t it? I’ll leave it a month or so before I start foreclosure proceedings with a view to forcing them into receivership. With the threat of bankruptcy looming over them they’ll drop the price they’ll accept for the dam contract rights. I’ll then drop my offer to two-thirds of next to nowt. They’ll panic and make mistakes, folk in that sort of situation always do, at which point I’ll push them into bankruptcy. The officially appointed receiver will contact me to see what he can recover from us for the contract and I’ll refuse to pay a penny for the contract, but I shall offer to buy the company for just enough to cover its debts which the receiver won’t know that we already hold. I’ll insist that when I say I’ll buy the company I mean including all of its plant and machinery which I already have a list of from the tax man because they’ve been off setting their depreciation losses against their taxation liabilities.
“I’ll make it clear that if any of that plant and machinery is missing the deal is off. Naturally much of that plant and machinery will be missing, or more likely it will never have existed, so the receiver will instruct the police to investigate. That will uncover the drugs connection as well as defrauding the taxman. Folk will be gaoled and the receiver will get back to me to see what can be done. I’ll offer to take all and everything in the way of the company’s assets and debts, which has to include all plant and machinery that actually exists, which I’ll point out is actually the entirety of the company’s assets and most of it according to taxation records is at least fifteen years old and according to their books, which have been submitted to and legally accepted by the taxman, has been written down due to depreciation and is now virtually worthless. I’ll point out that it would be pointless for the receiver to even try to sell them for a higher price because if that were to be successful that would involve the owners in even deeper criminal activity because it means they submitted falsified books. At that point I should be morally obliged to inform the taxman who would immediately sequestrate the plant to recover at least some of what is owed to the government.
“I’ll offer to take on all their debt liabilities as part of the deal. The dam contract I’ll value at zero on the grounds that after all the issues with it there is no guarantee that Bearthwaite will actually go through with the project. The price I’ll offer will be no more than enough to pay off the debts which moneys will be repaid to us since we hold the debts. At that point the receiver won’t know I know exactly what those debts amount to, but my offer will clear the receiver’s case with no outstanding debt liabilities which is all he’ll really care about because in most cases there is not enough money on the table to do that and debts are left unpaid and he or she has the unpleasant task of deciding how to allocate what money is available. Once I have the receiver’s verbal agreement, I’ll have some enforcers from Harwell’s rangers visit all the plant and machinery with a view to supplying security, so it doesn’t mysteriously disappear. Once the receiver signs the deal I’ll have Harry and his mates arrange for all that plant and machinery to be teken to the Bearthwaite quarry within forty-eight hours. The end result will be we acquire all the machinery and plant for what we paid for their debts, i.e. next to nowt, and we sever all obligations to the company as a result of buying them out. Our engineers I’m sure will have that plant and machinery running as sweet as if new in no time at all. Then we negotiate with a new company to use our equipment with very tight terms of payment. We pay nothing upfront.”
That was the history of it which had made the Bearthwaite financial team consider that they should be writing their contracts such that such an event could never happen again. Some sophisticated calculations on Chance’s part revealed that though the work would take far longer than anticipated it would eventually come in at half the projected cost, which all considered to be a first. Bertie had his staff work their way over all the plant and machinery and bring it all up to new condition. It hadn’t taken as long nor had it been as expensive as feared. Part of the deal with any new piling company was that they had to train Bearthwaite folk in the use of the equipment. The first company contacted said they would only use their own equipment and wouldn’t allow any other than their own operatives use it. The second had said they would have to charge extra for training non company employees even on Beebell’s equipment. Both companies had been shocked when Murray put the phone down on them and blocked their phone numbers. Since the aim was to eventually have Bearthwaite folk able to use the equipment to earn money outside on behalf of Beebell he wasn’t interested in dealing with anyone whose arm he’d had to twist into accepting what was actually a very good deal.
The reservoir dam had to be a couple of metres higher and several hundreds of metres wider on both sides. The problem was none was exactly certain as to the construction of the oldest lower portion of the dam. Geophysical investigations(39) had yielded inconclusive results. Georgette the structural engineer insisted it was safest to assume it was just sod, mud and sticks. Tony Dearden, a JCB and large excavator operator, had said that sod, mud and sticks amounted to complete shite and was far too dangerous a base to put owt else on top of. Georgette had talked to Murray and his team of Bearthwaite money merchants and said, “We need to work on the principle that the existing dam is on the point of failure. That means in order to ensure the safety of the village we need to build a new dam in front of it from the ground up. The bottom line is somewhere between twenty and thirty-five million quid depending on what the geological surveys find at the site of the proposed new dam. I’m not prepared to even contemplate anything else. I’m not going to be responsible for the deaths of one of my friends never mind ten thousand of them.”
Sasha had said, “Okay, Georgette, just have the ground surveys done, so you know what needs to be done. Forget about the money. Let us deal with that, but it is available. Your job is to get that new dam built.”
To say the least she been surprised, for she’d expected a great deal of vitriolic argument, so Georgette did as instructed. First estimates came in at twenty-two million, and Georgette had been amazed that all Sasha had said was, “Well it could have been a hell of a sight worse. At that price we’ll be able to afford a seriously well kitted out set of science laboratories for the school and a state of the art Nuclear Magnetic Resonance Spectroscopy Machine for Sun and have one of his staff trained to use it too.” He’d shrugged, grinned and added, “And we’ll still have change out of your upper estimation of thirty-five million.”
The island that would be created by the new water level had been enhanced by Saul’s crews of demolition contractors. They had left some of the larger pieces of reinforced concrete from a couple of jobs intact for Harry and the other large waggon operators to deliver to the quarry at Bearthwaite. It had been a massive operation involving many of the machine(40) operators and farmers of the valley to deliver and site the concrete pieces, some of which were thirty feet [10m] long, eight feet [2.4m] wide and two feet [600mm] thick, at the edge of what was not yet an island. After the siting of the large concrete pieces and infilling the gaps with smaller pieces of concrete, some of which were several tons [a ton is 1000Kg or 2240 pounds] in weight so the term smaller was entirely relative, the builders moved in and the jetties of the future had been constructed. Even after covering everything that would be higher than two feet below the new water level with subsoil topped by topsoil containing large amounts of weedy and grassy sod, the entire site looked bizarre and ugly, but folk were telt that the rising water would soon render the site into a beautiful, tranquil place that anglers would be happy to bring money to Bearthwaite to enjoy. A fortnight after spreading the topsoil and planting the trees and shrubs, that had been grown in large pots, all that remained to be done was to sow the wildflower and grass seeds when the weather warmed up.
Clerkwell James had been a hard working legal advisor for the LEA(41) for nearly twenty years. He’d long lost any illusions he’d ever had that he was actually doing any good for society. His bosses were corrupt and self serving jobsworths. He seriously doubted that any of them had ever cared about the educations of the children they were supposed to be ensuring was of as high a quality as possible. By the time he’d reached his middle forties he’d begun to wonder why he bothered doing anything. His job was pointless, his marriage was futile as well as pointless and even when he forced himself to think deeply about it he couldn’t see any value in his life to himself or to anyone else. Them his wife cut him some slack. She called a halt to it all. Admittedly she had taken everything, the house, the car and all his salary, but there was a bright side to it all. She’d taken his three teenage children as well. There he was in the process of becoming divorced. He’d had the conditional order of divorce(42) and was awaiting the final order of divorce.(43) He’d been left by a woman who’d never contributed anything to his marriage who’d taken it all when she left. Only thing was she hadn’t left, he’d had to leave. She was no loss because they’d barely spoken to each other for years and as for the three kids she’d managed to turn them against him whilst he’d been working long hours to keep them in a luxury he’d never had the free time to enjoy. In his opinion his teenage children were no better than his estranged wife whom he’d realised he’d finally managed to escape from.
He stayed at his brother John’s house whilst trying to work out what to do next. John had said, “Clerkwell, you may as well quit work. You’re not actually making anything out of it, so why do it? You’d live no worse on no salary than you are at present. You’ve hated that job for as far back as I can remember, and all it’s doing now is destroying you, so just hand your notice in and find something that pays a few quid cash in hand. Go and work at B&Q,(44) they’re always advertising for blokes experienced with DIY to work in the spot because bits of kids that have just left school don’t know owt about owt and wind the customers up. Leave that bitch Jean with the mortgage to pay. She won’t be able to, so will have to sell up. You’ll get nowt out of the sale money, but at least you’ll know she’s no longer sitting pretty in the house you are paying for smirking at you, and she’ll need to get a job for the first time. Look to the bright side, she’s got no qualifications nor skills so she’ll be working for a minimum wage and folk will treat her like shit. What goes around, Lad, eventually comes around. However, isn’t there anything else you’ve ever wanted to do? Somewhere you’ve wanted to go? Just go and do it, Man.”
John’s words had triggered memories that reached back to the battle with Bearthwaite, after they’d closed their school, over the LEA’s obligation to provide somewhere for the Bearthwaite children to take their national examinations. A battle which the LEA, and Ofsted(45) to boot, had lost badly. He remembered saying, “I can take early retirement in three years and I’m thinking of finding out what my chances are of moving to Bearthwaite. I reckon for sure working for her [he was referring to Adalheidis] has got to be better than working for the county, and I’d like to be on the winning side for a change.”(46) It was true that he’d only uttered those words to upset some idiot whose name he no longer remembered because he’d been fired or moved sideways to some backwater within the LEA, but he had said them and maybe it wasn’t an entirely stupid idea. He decided he would contact the Bearthwaite Educational Establishment because he had no personal contact numbers and they weren’t publicly available.
Elsie, the head dinner lady and senior administratrix at the school had said that it would be best if he spoke to someone called Chance Kerr and she would put the call through for him. He was surprised that Chance knew who he was. He explained his history, present circumstances and his brother’s advice. Chance had listened with care and said after a long pause, “I think it best if you talk to Adalheidis herself. I’ll have a word with her, and if you provide me with your number one of us will get back to you within the hour.” Chance had rung Adalheidis and said, “I just can’t tell whether he’s one of us or just someone trapped in a hard place and we are all he can think of to use to escape. He said he was a researcher for the LEA’s solicitors and had never met you, but he knew a lot about you and he’d like to be on the winning side for a change. His soon to be ex wife has cleaned him out and turned his kids against him. He admitted he was going to quit his job because he was working all hours for nothing for himself at a job he’d hated for years and he didn’t even have enough time in which to do anything else like look for a job. What do you think? Meet you or maybe Elle in an attempt to work out why he wants to come here? Or have you something else in mind?”
“Aye. Have him come here on a month’s trial. We’ll find out everything we wish to know that way won’t we without involving Elle or anybody else. It was obvious to me during the court battles that the LEA team had at least one decent researcher providing them with information, but their solicitors had no idea how to make the best use of it. May be this Clerkwell was that source. It’ll certainly be worth finding out, if he was we can make far better use of him than ever the LEA did. If he’s not much good as a researcher we can find him another slot if he fits here. There’re are any number of folks here who are in desperate need of decent administrators. Murray for one, which is why he hasn’t found any yet because he’s been too busy with higher priority matters to advertise and then interview administrator types. If he fits we’ll put Jimmy onto his wife to make sure she doesn’t take so much out of his life that he just decides to end it all. If he doesn’t fit we get rid of him with not much lost and he can deal with his wife himself. Ring him back, Chance.”
Chance rang back and explained everything he and Adalheidis had discussed including the option to get rid of him at the end of a month. “That’s fair enough, but there’s no point in paying me much more than will cover my rent and meals too because my wife will take it off me. I’d rather give it to charity, because she’ll just squander it on useless tat.”
It had been arranged for Clerkwell to arrive the following day. He was provided with a small flat and joined the legal team’s researchers. He was good, damned good according to Murray, and he didn’t seem to have a problem fitting in to Bearthwaite life. He was, however, almost impossible to read and even after a fortnight none knew much more about him as a man than they had when he’d first arrived. That remained the case till the month’s trial was nearly up and Murray said the only thing to do was either get rid of him or extend the trial. All agreed that accepting him as Bearthwaite folk knowing so little about him would be stupid and possibly dangerous too. That was the state of affairs till Clerkwell met Rosa a forty year old French teacher originally from Boulogne who’d moved to Bearthwaite twenty years before. What had made the difference to the decision makers was that Rosa made no secret of the fact that she was trans, and clearly Clerkwell was aware of that and it made no difference to him.
When gently questioned as to her thoughts concerning Clerkwell Rosa had telt a group of women in the village shop run by Lucy, “There’s no point in asking me about men. Despite what any of the idiots out there would claim I’ve never been one and I haven’t even had the parts for a couple of decades. Men are all completely impossible even the best of them. Clerkwell is no worse and no better than any other man here. Like all the rest one minute he’s kind, generous, loving and the best thing since sliced bread was invented, then the next moment, he’s nasty, mean, hateful, and irrational to the point where I turn into someone even I don’t like. He’s a bloke and like the rest of them his mood swings give me whiplash. Like I said he’s just like the rest of them. What you see is never what you get with men. You may get lucky and get a bargain, but you’re just as likely to get unlucky and buy a pig in a poke. What is certain is it will never be what you thought you bought. You’ve all lived with yours for years, some of you for decades and none of you have ever stopped complaining about them, yet you’re still married to them. I suppose I’m just as daft as the rest of us and in twenty years time we’ll all be having this same conversation all over again. He’s okay. I know what you’re asking, is he or could he become Bearthwaite folk. I’d say yes he is, but I’m hardly an impartial voice here because I enjoy sleeping with the man, and he is rather good at it. We rang Jess McLeod up the other day about some kids.”
At that Rosa, who was known to be eccentric, walked out, but as a result of her words the decision had been taken. Clerkwell was staying as Bearthwaite folk. He continued working with the Bearthwaite legal team, working for peanuts on paper. His ex wife was receiving nothing thanks to Jimmy the Bearthwaite family law solicitor who’d negotiated a clean break settlement whereby Clerkwell received nothing from the sale of their house. All moneys in their bank accounts had already been squandered by his ex wife and the divorce magistrates at the final hearing had agreed with Jimmy that his client could not be held responsible for his ex wife’s profligacy. Two of the children had left education and like their mother had no employment, the third child was leaving school at the end of the school year but was doing badly, certainly not well enough to continue in education. From the sale of his house Clerkwells’s ex would have more than enough money left to look after them all till all three of the children became adults provided she was careful, something Clerkwell knew she was incapable of being.
Jimmy’s argument that Clerkwell could not reasonably be expected to support four adults who were legally responsible for themselves, and given that the stress of his wife divorcing him had cost him his job and he was currently living on the charity of friends and prepared to settle for nothing out of the sale of the house he’d entirely paid for in return for no future liabilities was seen as more than fair and equitable by the magistrates. From Clerkwell’s point of view Jimmy had delivered, for all he’d asked was, “Just get me out of it, Jimmy. Jean can keep the lot and as long as she has no future claim on me I’ll regard it as a win because I’ll have got my life back. Rosa treats me better than Jean ever did from the moment I said I do. She was okay before that, but afterwards she changed, and I was initially too naïve to see it, and later I was too proud to admit I’d been seen coming and taken for a ride.” In time, nearly twelve months of time, Rosa and Clerkwell adopted four children from the streets of Edinburgh.
As a result of Buthar and Ásfríðr’s(47) politicking in the Council major victories regarding housing had been achieved on behalf of Bearthwaite folk. All the old buildings at Bearthwaite had been granted planning permission to be completely refurbished to modern standards, including extensions to some of the houses at the old allotments site, and many houses elsewhere had been enlarged in the process, which meant housing was available for many more folk should it become necessary to take in Bearthwaite folk who normally resided outside the valley. A number of large commercial buildings were to be turned into apartment style flats, but most would be converted into communal barracks style accommodations ready for emergency housing of Bearthwaite folk from outside the valley in need of protection. It was envisaged that that would be for the elderly and women with children, for the rest would be reinforced by rangers and others from the valley ready to stand their ground. Some of those buildings had been becoming increasingly derelict since the advent of the second world war in nineteen thirty-nine when the men who’d worked in them had been called up for military service. Upper Fordshall and Lower Fordshall villages and Fordshall Hall itself had already been reinstated to their former state, but with considerable improvements insisted upon by building control. Darkfell village too had been completely rebuilt from the ground up and in many cases with new foundations too. Again building control had insisted on modern improvements like damp proof courses, bathrooms and lavatories all of which necessitated extensions. For the builders of Bearthwaite there was a decade of work in front of them and the planning applications were still going in.
Those extensions had provided opportunities to provide extra reception rooms and bedrooms too, opportunities which had been taken advantage of. In the past planning permissions for such would have certainly been blocked, but no longer, for now Buthar and Ásfríðr traded their votes with other Councillors and such matters were passed on the nod including the extra rooms not specified by building control. As a result great efforts were being poured into the purchase of properties that could be used for housing Bearthwaite’s burgeoning population. The newly completed Olympic specification swimming pool was housed in a building that also contained two hundred and twenty-seven apartment flats, mostly suitable for single persons and students, all youngsters who had just left home. Youngsters who desired some independence but who still needed the support of nearby family too. Too, it was looking as if there would be eight Bearthwaite Independent Councillors on the Council after the next set of local elections which would doubtless make life considerably easier for the Bearthwaite residents. Buthar had been often quoted for saying, “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em and then take ’em over. I’m working on the third stage of that right now.”
The few non Bearthwaite folk who lived within close proximity to Bearthwaite folk in numerous places within the Calva area had benefited enormously from that proximity and word of that soon circulated round the county, especially in the wards where Buthar had expressed the intention to have Bearthwaite Independent candidates standing in the next set of local elections. It was known that one by one those non Bearthwaite folk either sold up and moved away or were becoming Bearthwaite folk. Beebell had bought up all the vacated housing and they rapidly became occupied by Bearthwaite folk, mostly youngsters. What was not known, other than to the members of the Beebell directorate, which at Buthar’s insistence had included Ásfríðr since election night, was that Ásfríðr had suggested, “I think we should contract the time scale of our intentions and field a candidate in every one of the sixty-five wards that comprise the Westmorland & Furness Council at the next set of local elections not the one after that. It doesn’t matter how many of us lose our deposits does it?
“It draws up the battle lines and gives us the experience of planning and fighting a major campaign and at the same time gives every voter in the county the opportunity to vote for us. We should tell them that. At the very least we need to field a candidate in the ward where our farm is down in Furness and fight the seat vigorously. We employ a goodly few down there and are well thought of due to that and Vincent’s van that supplies hundreds of remote dwellings and hamlets. We’re losing money on it, but not much and it’s winning us more and more friends and influence all the time. At least we’ll then know the base numbers from which we can grow and perhaps most importantly where we could win the next time around with not too much effort. You never know we may just take a few seats over and above the eight we anticipate winning. Even one extra seat would be worth much more to us than all the lost deposits. And it may just provide the inspiration for some Cumberland folk out west to start tekin control of their own affairs too.
“I wouldn’t write off the inhabitants of even the coastal industrial towns that are now poverty stricken because all the industry has long gone. A lot voters there are sick of listening to lies that don’t feed them, don’t provide them with better medical services or a decent education for their kids. I reckon some of them will listen for sure, and all I’m suggesting is we put up five hundred quid a ward to find out just how many of them are listening. If nowt else it’ll be the thin end of the wedge that every one of our achievements will drive that tiny bit farther home. It fits with Buthar’s ideas in that that too will distract attention away from us here. What do you think? I also think we should field a candidate for our MP at the next general election. I’m too young really, but if none else wants to stand I’m up for it. I doubt if I or any else can actually win, but I’ll enjoy mekin that useless bastard Steadings that’s bin around for far too long get off his fat arse and actually have to fight to retain his seat.”
Buthar summed up the consensus when he said, “It’s got to be worth the money hasn’t it. Even if we lost all sixty-five five hundred quid deposits that’s only thirty-two and a half thousand quid, and every three wildcats we bring in costs us more than that which we regard as money well spent. You never know next time around it will probably be worth fielding a few candidates across the border in the more rural parts of Cumberland just to rattle a few cages, and let the folk as live there know we haven’t forgotten them just because the county was carved up at the last reorganisation. Leave the big towns out west on the coast till we’ve achieved something in the rural parts for the urbanites to see that things could improve, but only if they shrug off their antipathy to politics and recognise as we did, albeit rather late, that it is something that they can not only play a meaningful part in, but a game they could win. Tell ’em that we’re prepared to field a candidate, but that we reckon it would be a good deal better if the candidate was one of their own.
“As for a candidate for our MP. I reckon Ásfríðr’s wrong about her being too young because I see her age as a positive thing. Unlike a lot of us old uns, she’ll be around and active for a gey long time. Give her a few years and she’ll be a force to be reckoned with. I’m in full support of her standing. Max Steadings has, as she said, been around for far too long getting fat on the proceeds of other folks’ poverty and misery. He’s done bugger all for any of his constituents, and she’s just the lass to point all that out to the voters. He’s Labour and it’s always bin said that a pig with a red rosette could win an election in these parts. Well I reckon in his case it came true. All Ásfríðr has to do is tell it like it is and that will mek him really mad and hate her and say spiteful about youngsters and lasses that he’d learn to regret when it cost him a lot of votes. The younger and female voters won’t vote for him automatically just because he’s Labour if he runs them down publicly simply for being young or female.” Things were indeed changing and the torch was being passed on to a new generation of Bearthwaite folk who were just as eager to take their fight to the opposition as their forbearers and they were doing it in ways their forbearers couldn’t have imagined.
24875 words including the footnotes
1 The Bering Strait is a strait between the Pacific and Arctic oceans, separating the Chukchi Peninsula of the Russian Far East from the Seward Peninsula of Alaska.
2 Beast, in this sense a bovine.
3 Yow, a ewe, though Alan is using to term to encompass any sheep, ewe, wether or ram.
4 RAF, Royal Air Force.
5 Haylage is a 40-60% moisture content hay that is preserved by fermentation. It is easier to make than dry hay.
6 Down country, to the south. Just how far south down country is depends on who you talk to and the exact context.
7 Fettle, a minor usage here. It is being used to mean to convert rather than its usual usage which is to mend.
8 The coin, the money.
9 Shape herself, in this context, get a move on or hurry up.
10 Wireless, archaic term for a radio.
11 The home service was replaced by Radio 4 on the 30th of September 1967.
12 Craic, pronounced crack, enjoyable social activity, a good time.
13 Wattered, watered. The standard northern English pronunciation in many places not just Bearthwaite.
14 BBC, Britain’s national broadcaster, the British Broadcasting Corporation who’s weather forecasting comes from the meteorological office.
15 Swot, a somewhat pejorative term for a studious pupil.
16 Drystun, Cumbrian pronunciation of drystone. Sandstone is pronounced sandstun.
17 Auld bodies, older folk. A widespread usage in northern England especially by the elderly.
18 Hiself, himself.
19 Fatty bacon, the bacon being referred to was at one time often a slice of pure fat with no lean meat in it at all. It was fried like any other bacon and was a welcome warming high calorie food for working men in the days when cold was a constant enemy and working hours were long and arduous.
20 Favvouring, an old usage not much favoured these days. Favouring to protect or avoid using one leg, hand, arm because it is painful, injured, etc..
21 Betterer, a piece of poor English on Flynn’s part. He should have said, the better it becomes.
22 Young uns, young ones, youngsters.
23 Brass, money.
24 Went to the wall, in this context became extinct.
25 Typically for the area Alan pronounces find like the word wind, air movement not wrapping. Find, f + in + d. IPA fInd. Too, blind and many other such words are pronounced with a hard short i as in IPA I. Finding, IPA, fIndIŋ.
26 Bait, in this context food.
27 Girt, colloquial great.
28 Wants, Alan pronouces this with a short a as in w + ants, not as in wonts. IPA wantz.
29 Traditionally Cumberland sausage had been made from Cumberland pigs. The pork was chopped not minced [US ground], there was very little binder used, the sausage was coiled not linked and made at an inch and a quarter [32mm] in diameter, wider than other sausages, and was highly spiced. In days gone by Cumberland sausage contained from eighty-five to ninety-eight percent meat. Exactly how much of that meat was lean and how much was fat is not clear. Most butchers and farms too made their own sausage to their own recipes, so there never had been an ‘original’ Cumberland sausage, there were thousands of them. There are still sources of highly spiced sausage, Waberthwaite sausage is a superb example of one containing a lot of ground pepper, but most are milder. The current PGI, Protected Geographical Indication, marked sausage have to contain a minimum of eighty percent meat, but many sausages are sold as Cumberland without claiming the PGI some with as little as forty-two percent meat content, the minimum a sausage may contain and be sold as pork sausage in the UK.
30 Selling Cumberland sausage, see GOM 26.
31 At one time the Cumbrian port of Whitehaven was the third largest port in the UK and a huge quantity of spices from all over the world flowed into the docks there making access to spices easy in the area.
32 PGI, Protected Geographical Indication.
33 Townies, a pejorative term of contempt used by rural folk to indicate folk who come from towns and understand little or nothing concerning life in rural environments.
34 The expression is usually quoted in reverse order thus. Though the mills of God grind exceedingly slow they grind exceedingly fine.
35 Coney, Coney, adult rabbit, strictly rabbits are young coneys as kittens are young cats.
36 Wellies, wellington boots. Waterproof rubber boots may be a foot high.
37 A shilling was a twentieth of a pound, 5%, in pre decimal UK currency, prior to Monday 15 February 1971.
38 Strike is a colloquial term for what happens when the greenbottle fly (other flies too) lays eggs in the dung coated fleece of a sheep. The affected animal is said to have been struck. The eggs turn into maggots which can kill the animal by eating it alive and continuing after its death. There have been various treatments over the years, but some Permethrin based treatments when applied to the site are known to have maggots literally jumping out of the wound to escape what has in fact already killed them.
39 Geophysical survey is the systematic collection of geophysical data for spatial studies. Geophysical surveys may use a great variety of sensing instruments.
40 Machine, in this context large excavation and demolition machines.
41 LEA, Local Education Authority.
42 On the 6th of April in 2022 the law changed regarding divorce. The new conditional order of divorce serves a similar purpose to the old Decree Nisi which was a provisional divorce that did not officially end a marriage. 43 days after either have been granted one may apply for a Decree Absolute or final order of divorce both of which dissolve the marriage.
43 On the 6th of April in 2022 the law changed regarding divorce. The new final order of divorce serves a similar purpose to the old Decree Absolute both of which dissolve the marriage.
44 B&Q Limited is a British multinational DIY and home improvement retailing company, with headquarters in Eastleigh, England. It is a wholly owned subsidiary of Kingfisher plc.
45 Ofsted, the Office for Standards in Education, Children’s Services and Skills is a non ministerial department of His Majesty’s government, reporting to Parliament.
46 See GOM 46.
47 Ásfríðr, Oh s free thur, the th as in the. IPA, aʊsfri:ðr.
Comments
Early Comment
Before I get sidetracked. Using a dash instead of a decimal point is a bit confusing, but now that I've worked it out I suppose I can cope. As for what they were recording, even in the absence of accurate weather instruments just a record of the weather effects some pretty good estimates of the weather can be made.
"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin
Of dots and dots and commas
Not often I see interpunct used today. Quite reminds me of old times when it was THE official UK way of writing the separation of integers and decimals.
Interesting that the anglophone world once more has to stand out. Most European languages use comma (,) instead.
Almost as bad
Mathematical notation I believe specifies a decimal point be used. But the comma is something I'm used to, so it doesn't throw me off as much.
"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin
Still perfectly in accordance with UK norms
Less used doesn't mean that it's wrong. Apparently "The Lancet" still uses interpunct as standard.
As you yourself say, how it is perceived is all about what you are used to. While a comma in this context would have been wrong, it still would have been easier for you to accept.
Always Interesting
Runs the gamut from street-kids, to sausages, to politics. Something for everybody.