Strawberry Fields by Katie Flynn

have had to labour, willingly giving a hand. After all, it was Christmas Day!
    Then the driver and the fireman climbed back into the cab and the labourers got out the huge, oddly shaped shovels which Brogan had found so hard to handle at first, and began to dig.
    ‘Sure and I never t’ought I’d be movin’ mountains almost on me own when I crossed the water,’ Paddy panted, but the big shovel swung rhythmically as he spoke and he never missed a load. ‘A good job they offered double pay today, for I’m sure as a man can be that this is double work.’
    ‘You want to do it wit’out your donkey jacket,’ Peader joked. ‘Look at me son, now, an’ him as skinny as a tinker’s ass, but he’s swingin’ wit’ the best of us, so he is.’
    It took longer than they had guessed, however, and it was full dark before they climbed back into the guard’s van, dog-weary.
    ‘The girl’s bound to have woke be now,’ Brogan worried. ‘Sure an’ she’ll want me guts for garters so she will when she sees I’ve got the baby.’
    ‘She won’t wake yet; she’ll be deep in her first sleep,’ Paddy protested. ‘That wee girl hadn’t had a warm sleep or a dacent meal for months be the look of her. Just you sit down an’ rest, Brog. ’Twon’t harm.’
    So Brogan sat down in the draughty guard’s van, and he was so tired, so muscle-weary, that soon he slept.
    Brogan dreamed. He dreamed he was in a huge meadow, gay with flowers, and a soft breeze blew the scented air to him and the sun shone gold out of a clear blue sky overhead. The hedgerows were full of wild roses and honeysuckle, with the verge pink with foxgloves.
    Brogan wandered in the meadow for a while, drowsily content, whilst the bees hummed and the birds sang and called and the sweet scents of summer charmed him. And then, coming across the grass, he saw a girl, and as she got closer, he saw that it was Jess, and he knew she had come for the baby
    He looked round wildly; there was no railway line, no embankment, no engine or train or anything of that nature anywhere near. And the girl was smiling at him, holding out her hands to him.
    He turned away; how could he tell her he had taken the baby, and now he had lost her? But he could not run from her, so he stood his ground and presently he turned reluctantly towards her and he saw that she was very clean, and that her tangled hair had been washed and brushed. She looked pretty, he thought wonderingly, she was a really pretty girl, no longer a forlorn and ragged waif.
    She smiled sweetly at him, then she spoke. ‘Brogan? Where’s me baby sister?’
    He began to say he’d lost the child, and then something made him remember putting her inside his donkey jacket. He shoved a hand into the breast of it and there was the baby, cuddled up against his chest, warm and softly sleeping. He grinned at Jess and drew back the coat to show her the child nestling within.
    ‘There she is, alanna,’ he said softly, relief washing over him in waves. ‘There she is, safe as houses and pretty as a picture. Will you be takin’ her now, then?’
    He went to hand the baby over, but Jess shook her head. To his horror, he realised that even as he watched she was growing fainter, until she was no more than a mist of a girl against the flower-filled meadow.
    ‘No, I can’t take ’er; it wouldn’t be right. And I’ve gorra go. But you’ll tek care of ’er for me, won’t you, Brogan? You’ll take care of me baby sister, me heart’s darlin’? You wouldn’t throw ’er on the world’s mercy, Brogan, when it don’t ’ave none?’
    ‘Oh, but I’m a feller, fellers don’t look after babies . . .’ Brogan began, but it was too late. The girl Jess had faded like a wraith of mist in the morning sun, and even as he drew the baby out of his coat and held her imploringly towards her sister, the dream faded and he found himself awake and cold, whilst the guard’s van continued to clatter along the tracks towards the