pork smelt
almost foreign to me, I had gone without meat for so long.
‘Ingenious!’ I whispered.
‘Join us for dinner next week and you
can taste some yourself.’ She smiled and placed a hand on the small of my back to
guide me, like a sailboat, to the front door. I was already imagining a chop between my
teeth and thanking her for it.
‘You’d best be off. Or else folk
will start wondering. And we wouldn’t want that.’
‘Are you sure about dinner?’ I
asked her.
‘Certainly.’ She smiled.
‘Saturday next.’
I pushed the gate open and began the walk
home.
‘Violet!’ she called after me.
‘Why not invite the Archams’ lad along?’
I stood still on the road. Did people think
there was something between Pete and me? The idea bloomed. I loved speaking for him,
receiving an invitation on his behalf.
It was a long run from the Sheltons’
farm to Dog Kennel Lane, taking me through the entire length of the village. I passed
along the ribbon of cottages to the north end of the valley and climbed the gradient of
the lane, the houses vanishing one by one into the valley’s bowl. The land on the
surrounding hills was sparse and treeless; it did not try to compete with the sky. Here,
the sky took prominence: it bullied the Plain with bulbous cloudsand
deep, heady blues, eschewing the neatness of the fields below with its boundlessness. I
had become fixated by its depth – how, even on overcast days, it seemed colossal,
unthinkable, a limitless expanse of blankness.
I arrived at the Archams’ farm to find
that Pete was still out on the Plain with the sheep. So I sat on the yard wall, scouring
Rough Down for a sign of his flock. To sit like this was a luxury. The children from the
farms hardly ever had a chance to enjoy the Plain for its own sake. And I felt I always
had to find a practical reason to roam it so as not to appear as if I had too much time
on my hands. Father didn’t like me wandering around for the sake of it. He said it
singled us out. Yet here I was, absorbing the whole scene as if it were a picture on a
wall. Around Imber, there was no flat idleness – the Plain made us earn our presence in
the fields. Unless you were from Imber Court, you had to be walking or working or else
not there at all. Nothing was ever still up here, not on the surface; the air was always
on the move, sifting through the grass in whispers before carrying on its way. Sitting
on the wall, I felt like one of the Whistlers, surveying the view simply for its beauty,
walking the hills for no reason other than my own leisure. I’d often hear them
readying their cart from inside the school house, loading it up with blankets and
hampers for a picnic. It was the one thing I was glad of after the evacuation: I was
spared the thought of them eating strawberries in the long grass and knapweed while I
was trapped indoors solving equations.
At last a dot appeared on the far side of
Rough Down. It grew like a pool of ink, gaining detail gradually until I recognized it
as Pete’s flock. I ran up the hill to meet him, full to the brim with the news of
Mrs Shelton’s pig.
‘Hello, Miss Violet!’ Mr Archam
shouted, when he was close enough to make out my figure. ‘Lend us a hand,
won’t you? This one’s a little weary.’ He passed me a lamb, which I
took awkwardly, unfamiliar with the best way to hold it. ‘Ah, she’s nofarmer’s daughter, is she, Pete?’ He chortled. ‘Give
her some grip, miss, or she’ll bleat the houses down.’
I tried my best to cradle the animal,
dropping behind Mr Archam in embarrassment when the lamb continued to flail in my
arms.
‘What brings you up Dog Kennel?’
he asked.
‘I wanted a word with Pete.’
‘A word, eh? It’ll be more than
a word you’ll give him, I’m sure of that.’ He smiled.
‘I’ll be heading on now. That one you’ve got there is sickly.’
He pointed to the lamb.
‘Will she be all right?’ I
asked, passing the struggling animal to Mr
almost foreign to me, I had gone without meat for so long.
‘Ingenious!’ I whispered.
‘Join us for dinner next week and you
can taste some yourself.’ She smiled and placed a hand on the small of my back to
guide me, like a sailboat, to the front door. I was already imagining a chop between my
teeth and thanking her for it.
‘You’d best be off. Or else folk
will start wondering. And we wouldn’t want that.’
‘Are you sure about dinner?’ I
asked her.
‘Certainly.’ She smiled.
‘Saturday next.’
I pushed the gate open and began the walk
home.
‘Violet!’ she called after me.
‘Why not invite the Archams’ lad along?’
I stood still on the road. Did people think
there was something between Pete and me? The idea bloomed. I loved speaking for him,
receiving an invitation on his behalf.
It was a long run from the Sheltons’
farm to Dog Kennel Lane, taking me through the entire length of the village. I passed
along the ribbon of cottages to the north end of the valley and climbed the gradient of
the lane, the houses vanishing one by one into the valley’s bowl. The land on the
surrounding hills was sparse and treeless; it did not try to compete with the sky. Here,
the sky took prominence: it bullied the Plain with bulbous cloudsand
deep, heady blues, eschewing the neatness of the fields below with its boundlessness. I
had become fixated by its depth – how, even on overcast days, it seemed colossal,
unthinkable, a limitless expanse of blankness.
I arrived at the Archams’ farm to find
that Pete was still out on the Plain with the sheep. So I sat on the yard wall, scouring
Rough Down for a sign of his flock. To sit like this was a luxury. The children from the
farms hardly ever had a chance to enjoy the Plain for its own sake. And I felt I always
had to find a practical reason to roam it so as not to appear as if I had too much time
on my hands. Father didn’t like me wandering around for the sake of it. He said it
singled us out. Yet here I was, absorbing the whole scene as if it were a picture on a
wall. Around Imber, there was no flat idleness – the Plain made us earn our presence in
the fields. Unless you were from Imber Court, you had to be walking or working or else
not there at all. Nothing was ever still up here, not on the surface; the air was always
on the move, sifting through the grass in whispers before carrying on its way. Sitting
on the wall, I felt like one of the Whistlers, surveying the view simply for its beauty,
walking the hills for no reason other than my own leisure. I’d often hear them
readying their cart from inside the school house, loading it up with blankets and
hampers for a picnic. It was the one thing I was glad of after the evacuation: I was
spared the thought of them eating strawberries in the long grass and knapweed while I
was trapped indoors solving equations.
At last a dot appeared on the far side of
Rough Down. It grew like a pool of ink, gaining detail gradually until I recognized it
as Pete’s flock. I ran up the hill to meet him, full to the brim with the news of
Mrs Shelton’s pig.
‘Hello, Miss Violet!’ Mr Archam
shouted, when he was close enough to make out my figure. ‘Lend us a hand,
won’t you? This one’s a little weary.’ He passed me a lamb, which I
took awkwardly, unfamiliar with the best way to hold it. ‘Ah, she’s nofarmer’s daughter, is she, Pete?’ He chortled. ‘Give
her some grip, miss, or she’ll bleat the houses down.’
I tried my best to cradle the animal,
dropping behind Mr Archam in embarrassment when the lamb continued to flail in my
arms.
‘What brings you up Dog Kennel?’
he asked.
‘I wanted a word with Pete.’
‘A word, eh? It’ll be more than
a word you’ll give him, I’m sure of that.’ He smiled.
‘I’ll be heading on now. That one you’ve got there is sickly.’
He pointed to the lamb.
‘Will she be all right?’ I
asked, passing the struggling animal to Mr
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