Of course, I can only equate this to Holkham by looking back to how Mr Coke replaced old farmhouses and buildings on the estate. His programme continued with labourers’ cottages. The initial cost must have been prohibitively high, but over time, lower maintenance justified the expenditure.
Joshua reread the letter. The content looked all right on paper, but he could not make assumptions about what would happen when he returned to Linmore. He had never been in the position to consider cost before, but suspected that his late brother’s debts were considerable. To what degree, he knew not.
When he accompanied Mr Weyborne and Francis on their daily rounds, he had seen buildings in need of repair, and some neglected land. At the time, he did not understand the significance. Now he did, and wanted to go home and play his part in the renewal of Linmore. If he were lucky, his father would let him have a say, but he had a further six months to acquire more knowledge.
To ensure he did not forget anything, Joshua strived to fill in the details before he went to sleep, and had done through all his placements, when he could remain awake. Some days he wrote half a page, but others managed only a couple of lines. He was sure Aunt Jane and his father would want to know what he had been doing.
October the twenty eighth
. He recorded the date when the agent took the three students on a tour of the roads around the perimeter of the park. Other than the monthly meeting in the estate office, it was Mr Blakeney’s way of bringing them together in their work, and always followed the same pattern.
They rode their horses two abreast. Michael and James preferred to ride together, so Joshua rode alongside the agent, who pointed out recent repairs to farm buildings, and new thatches to farm workers’ cottages, using local reeds.
He had travelled this way many times before. When they approached the outer limits of the fishing village, they usually turned down a track onto the estate. Before that, they passed the local workhouse. At least, that was what the faded notice on the gate said it was.
The brick and flint building was surrounded by a high wall, in which were set a pair of sturdy wooden doors, chained together. There was little to see from the road, but riding a horse, Joshua could stand up in the stirrups and peer over the walls. All he could see was the tiled roof and narrow windows with many panes of dusty glass. It had a bleak, abandoned look, and not once in passing had he seen any signs of life.
He remembered seeing a similar building in Linmore Dale, and in other counties on his journey to Holkham. They were dark, gloomy places, overflowing with people, whereas this seemed empty. If not here, where were the poor of the district? Before he saw poverty on his travels, Joshua would not have been aware of such things, but now he was.
“Why are the doors locked, Mr Blakeney?” He felt silly asking the question, but wanted to know.
The agent brought his horse to a halt, and answered with another question. “Why do you think it might be closed?”
“I can only imagine that it wasn’t large enough, and another has been built nearer the town,” said Joshua.
“That’s one option,” the agent said, turning in the saddle. “Now, let me ask Mr Gransden what he thinks is the purpose of having such an institution?”
“To house the poor, of course, sir,” Michael Gransden hastened to say, “but my father thinks they should be made to help themselves.”
“Mmm, that is an interesting concept, young man. What would you do to assist the indigent in their endeavour?” Mr Blakeney’s tone was quiet, but he accentuated the familiar burr.
Michael responded with the voice of youth and privilege. “If they aren’t prepared to work then they should be left to starve.”
The agent stroked his jaw before giving his response.
“Unfortunately,” he said, “it is when families are starving that they are forced into the workhouse. These places are not for pleasure, gentlemen. They provide basic food and shelter. Conditions are harsh, and people only enter those doors as a last resort. The stigma is so great that some folk would rather die with their self-respect than ask for help. The majority would rather earn their living, even doing the meanest task than to be labelled thus.”
For once, Michael Gransden was at a loss for words, and James was similarly afflicted, but Joshua’s mind was teaming with thoughts.
“As this was your question, Joshua,” the agent said, “I’ll give you the answer. This building has been empty for well over a year, for the simple reason the people hereabouts have work to do. They maintain their dignity, which is an important factor.”
The agent’s words triggered a memory of something Sergeant Percival said about women trading services to young men in exchange for money, and Joshua realised the significance of Tess offering herself rather than accept his charity. She might have needed the money, but it did not make his misguided offer welcome. Her self-respect was all she had.
Mr Coke knew that and provided the means to earn her living – which added another dimension to his understanding of a landowner’s responsibilities.
Contrary to Joshua’s expectations, the second part of his apprenticeship did not follow the rigid lines of the first. Mr Blakeney offered him the chance to plan his timetable, which proved as confusing as the well-established routine at Holkham. He was not sure what he wanted to do.
“What type of soil do you have in Shropshire, Mr Norbery?”
Joshua was attending the November meeting of students in the agent’s office. His mind was elsewhere, and Mr Blakeney had a habit of firing questions at people. Today, he was well and truly caught gathering dust.
“I…um…” Joshua frowned. What did he mean?
“Let me rephrase the question. What type is the local rock near your home?”
“It is limestone, sir,” said Joshua, knowing there were quarries in the ridge across the one side of the valley, full of fossils.
The agent nodded. “That sounds about right, so you would need to deal with the soil in a different way to the light, sandy ground we have on the east coast. If there is a limestone escarpment, the chances are the soil in the valley is red clay, washed down from the higher land. Clay is a heavy soil, which holds the water and needs careful drainage, which means digging ditches and keeping them clear to avoid waterlogged fields or flooding the roads.”
It started to make sense. Joshua had thought of this only in the context of Holkham, but if the type of soil was different, so too were the additives needed to make it fertile. Presumably, that was the reason the agent asked about the land at Linmore. Then he realised Mr Blakeney was still speaking.
“Can you stay behind after the meeting, Mr Norbery? There is a matter I need to discuss with you.”
Within minutes, the agent dismissed the other students, giving them two hours’ free time, and kept Joshua talking.
“I hope you realise the significance of my question about the soil.”
Joshua nodded. “The acidity levels would be different at home, as would the types of fertilizer used.”
The agent nodded.
“I drew your attention to the subject, because I am going to set you the task of planning your training programme for the next six months, based on the headings we used for the first. I want you to find out the practices used on your estate in Shropshire, then analyse what is good and what changes will be required when you return home. You will never be in a better position. If you bring your thoughts to me, we will formulate a plan to set before your father.”
Joshua’s mind was teeming with ideas.
“One more question. How many fertilizers can you name?”
Wondering if it was a trick question, Joshua said, “Marl, clay, manure… and… bonemeal, sir.”
“Yes,” said the agent. “I don’t think you have encountered much bonemeal yet. There is a processing plant near here, so when we need another cartload, I will send you with the driver.”
Joshua did not know what amused the agent. He was not a man to joke, but his mouth certainly twitched when he said that.
The next morning at seven o’clock, he returned to Mr Blakeney’s office, armed with his diary and pencils sharpened.
“We’ll begin with estate management. I want you to remember that Mr Coke started his restoration programme a quarter of a century ago, and it will probably take you as long. It is a costly process, and he didn’t do it all at once – nor will you.”
Joshua looked at the framed list of rules behind the desk. The agent caught his glance and responded.
“Yes,” he said. “Time is a valuable commodity, Mr Norbery. It would be well to remember that in the years to come. Now, I will give you some basic advice about managing your buildings.
Joshua wrote in his diary.
It makes sense to maintain and improve the fabric of existing buildings. Replace only those too dilapidated for repair. That applies equally to tiled or thatched roofs. Clear the rot from the woodwork. Do not let a lack of mortar weaken the walls, and ensure drainage channels of stone floors are clear.
If he could manage that, it would leave time to make other changes.
After the agent’s questions in the office, Joshua started to look critically at farming practices on the Home Farm at Linmore. He did not pretend to be an expert, but the more he learned, the clearer it was that agriculture in Shropshire was decades behind Norfolk.
He wrote to Francis Weyborne, enlisting his support. Three weeks later, he received enthusiastic answers, which told him the trainee bailiff was prepared to work with him. That was the first hurdle overcome.
Joshua knew he must introduce change slowly, gain support and not allow doubters to deter him. The land at Holkham was in good heart, and he was determined to make Linmore its equal on a smaller scale.
Once he formulated his plan, his enthusiasm took over. Who would have thought such a mundane subject could be so fascinating? Certainly not he, but it was. If he thought the agent’s schedule was strict, his motivation drove it harder. Unbeknown to his fellow students, he had another agenda, the details of which only Mr Blakeney was privy to know and give his permission.
His first task on discovering the winter ploughing was in progress was to watch the ploughmen go about their work. Clad in his wide-brimmed hat, smock and heavy boots, there was little to differentiate him from the labourers when he sat down to share their work break, supping a mug of cider and chewing a crust of bread spread with beef dripping. He did this for several days and came back well satisfied with what he learned.
Linmore was constantly in Joshua’s mind. He knew fallow fields were a waste of land, but Francis hinted that his father, Jim Weyborne, was a believer in the old ways. He expected some opposition, but was prepared to justify his plan to increase the ploughing capacity by introducing teams of heavy horses, which could deal with almost twice as many acres in a day than oxen.
Deep down, Joshua knew that any changes he made would inevitably bring a degree of disruption. To labourers used to sowing seeds by hand, a seed drill might be revolutionary, but at a stroke, it would ensure a uniform depth and increase yield. It was essential to grow more root crops for winter fodder to improve the animal feeding regime, and produce better quality manure for the land the following year.
Joshua imagined his interest in the land passed unnoticed, but the subject arose when Mr Coke attended the December meeting in the agent’s office.
Everyone was sitting around the desk. The landowner and his agent sat one side, with Joshua and the two other students opposite. They discussed many things and it was obvious Mr Coke’s presence had a profound effect.
Michael was in his element, ready to volunteer opinions without letting James speak for himself. Joshua said little. He sat back and listened, with half an ear on the conversation. Then Mr Coke spoke.
“I hear you have been doing some ploughing, Joshua?”
There was a muffled snort of derision in the background from Michael.
“Yes, sir.” Joshua could not deny the fact, but wondered where the news originated. As far as he was aware, only the ploughmen witnessed his efforts.
“What did you hope to learn?” said Mr Coke.
It was evident from the noise of scraping chair legs, and scuffing boots on the floor, that he had embarrassed his fellow students. They literally squirmed in their seats. Never mind. Maybe they would learn something.
“I spent hours watching the ploughmen set out work in the field, and plough a straight furrow. I wanted to do the same. They made it look easy, but it takes a lot of practice to manage a team of horses as well.”
He received a nod of agreement from the agent, but it was Mr Coke who said, “That’s true, but when you followed the plough, you gained a better understanding of the work involved, and how much land could be covered in a day. Moreover, you earned the respect of the ploughman. Old Tom told me of your determination to succeed, and he’s not easily impressed.”
To hear Mr Coke say that made everything worthwhile.
Christmas at Holkham was the first for many years that Joshua would spend without Charlie for company. Linmore had never been a very social place, due to his mother’s various maladies; but his father and Aunt Jane always ensured there were opportunities for the younger family members to socialize with neighbours. Now he was away from it all.
Three days before Christmas, he waved farewell to Michael Gransden going home to Kings Lynn, and James Inglethorpe to Bury St Edmunds.
Joshua told himself he did not care for grand social events, or wearing fancy clothes. All he needed was a decent meal to set him up for the season.
Mr Blakeney had other ideas. In the two days leading up to Christmas, Joshua experienced the bounty of the landlord, when he joined the agent on a tour of the estate to dispense presents of well-hung game with flagons of cider and ale to the workers’ families.
At midnight on Christmas Eve, the sound of carol singing rang out from the church on the hill overlooking Holkham Park. A chill wind blew outside, but not a seat in the building remained empty.