The Heart of the Dales (21 page)

‘You must be Andy?' I said as I let him into the kitchen.

‘That's reight, Mester Phinn,' he said. ‘Up wi' t'lark and rarin' to go.'

‘Well, it's very early and I've just –' I began.

‘Is that a pot o' tea tha brewin'?' the boy asked, eyeing the teapot on the stove.

‘It is. Would you like a cup?' I asked.

‘Cup o' tea gus down a treat this time o' t'mornin',' he said, seating himself at the kitchen table. ‘Mi Uncle 'Arry 'appen telled thee I'd be comin' up this mornin', did 'e?'

‘Yes, he did,' I replied, ‘but not quite this early. It's only eight o'clock.'

‘Well, tha sees,' he said, leaning back on a chair, ‘there's things to do. After I've sooarted thy garden out, I'm down to owld Missis Poskitt's to paint 'er iron yats, then Mester Umpleby 'as need o' me to do a bit o' muckin' out an' 'elp fotherin' 'osses. Then I've got sheep to fettle and beeasts to feed an' toneet I'm goin' to Young Farmers pea and pie supper.'

I passed the boy a mug from the dresser. ‘Busy man,' I said. ‘Help yourself.'

‘Can't complain,' he replied, getting up and reaching for the teapot and pouring himself a mugful. ‘I'm tryin' to save a bit o' money, tha sees, to get me through college. When I leave school next year, I'm 'opin' to go to Askham Bryan Agricul
tural College, best college in t'north, but there's fees an' such.'

‘So I hear. It's a very good college,' I told him. ‘My wife's cousin lectures at Askham Bryan – Dr Iain Bentley. He's a specialist in horticulture. You might come across him.'

‘Sheep are my specialism,' said Andy, before putting some milkand two heaped teaspoonfuls of sugar in his mug and stirring the tea vigorously. ‘Though I'm all reight wi' plants an' I can turn mi 'and to owt. I like pigs an' all an' I 'ave a few goats. Thing is wi' beeasts is that a dog looks up to you, a cat looks down on you but a pig looks you straight in t'eye. Tha knaas where thy are wi' pigs. Not like that wi' most fowk, is it? As mi Uncle 'Arry says, ‘There's nowt as queer as folk. They're all on 'em queer, bar thee and me – an' sometimes ah'm not that sure abaat thee.” He laughed. ‘I can't wait to leave school. Can't see t'point missen o' doin' halgebra an' geometry an' leaarnin' French an' writin' soppy poetry.'

‘You'd be surprised how it comes in useful in later life,' I told him, sounding like his teacher.

‘What, poetry?' He laughed loudly. ‘It's all la-di-da and bloody daffodils.'

‘I'll tell you something, Andy,' I said, ‘and you must never tell Mrs Phinn I told you, but poetry is the very best way to get a girlfriend. A little love poem, I have found, works wonders on the female heart.'

‘Nay, nay Mester Phinn,' he spluttered, shaking his head vigorously, ‘I'm not into that sooart o' thing at t'moment. There's plenty time fer that later on. There's this big lass at t'Young Farmers called Bianca, wi' red hair an' spots, who's set her cap fer me but I'm not hinterested. I just want to leave school and do summat worth doing.'

‘Well,' I said, ‘school and passing your exams are important.'

‘I can't see how what tha does at school'l 'elp me wi' sheep. I'd be better leaarnin' 'ow to repair a drystone wall, dig a dyke, chain 'arrow, lamb a yow, milka cow an' 'andle a collie. Can't see how workin' out circumference of a circle or writin' abaat flowers and fairies is gunna 'elp me much in t'line o' work I wants to do.'

‘Which school do you go to?' I asked him.

‘West Challerton 'Igh. 'Eadmaster, Mester Pennington-Smith, is only bothered abaat bright kids an' them what are good at sports. Wunt know me from Adam.'

‘Really?'

‘I liked t'other 'eadmaster, Mester Blunt, better. Tha knew where tha were wi' 'im. Bit like what I was sayin' abaat pigs.'

I decided not to probe any more. ‘So,' I said, ‘do you think you can sort out my garden?'

‘Oh, I can fettle it all reight. I can see there's a fair bit o' workneeds doin', mind. It's like a jungle out theer. Garden's full o' wickens.'

‘Whatever are they?' I asked. They sounded as if they might be some sort of strange furry creature with sharp teeth.

‘Weeds, Mester Phinn, weeds – dandillylions, twitch grass, nettles, docks, daisies, you name it, you've got it. An' I don't know when's last time tha mowed tha lawn.'

‘I've not had much time to do it lately,' I said. ‘I meant to make a start after we got back from our holidays but didn't and now autumn is here.'

‘T'recent downpour's med it grow ageean,' said the boy. ‘Nivver thee mind, Mester Phinn, I'll soon 'ave it fettled.'

‘We haven't discussed your –' I started.

‘I reckon I'll do your borders fust,' he told me, taking a great gulp of tea and smacking his lips noisily. ‘Good tea, this. Mi grandma allus likes her tea strong enough to stand a spoon up in it. Proper Yorkshire tea. Just the ticket. Any rooad, I reckon I'll mek a start on t'lawn this mornin'. Needs mowin' an' rakin' an' spikin' and grass food purrin on. Then I'll do t'diggin' next week. Best to wait till next month to tackle yer trees. Lot o' prunin' needs doin' theer.'

‘I can see you've done your homework,' I said.

‘Aye, I've 'ad a quick look round.' He tookanother great gulp from the mug.

‘About payment,' I said.

‘We can sooart that out later,' he told me, ‘when tha's seen
what I've done. I'll do a good job for thee, Mester Phinn. Tha'll not be disappointed.'

‘Fair enough,' I said.

‘Tha needs a compost 'eap, tha knaas,' the boy continued. ‘I'll build thee one round t'side, if tha likes. Oh, and there's three panes o' glass wants replacin' in yer cold frame. I'll measure 'em up and tha can 'appen ger 'em for me for next week, an' some putty an' all, an' some black paint an' brushes.'

‘Right,' I said, scribbling a note. ‘Is that everything?'

‘Yer gutterin' needs replacin' round t'side otherwise tha'll get watter comin' in. An' a couple of yer slates are loose. I'll fix 'em, an' all. I'll bring mi ladders next week. I could clean yer winders while I'm at it. Might as well, since I'm up theer anyway. They needs doin' by t'looks on 'em.'

Andy drained the mug and banged it down onto the kitchen table just as Christine came into the kitchen with the baby. She at least had dressed.

‘You must be Andy,' she said.

‘I am, missis,' he replied, standing up and extending a hand as large as a spade. ‘Pleased to meet you.' He then pushed his large pinkface close to the child. ‘And this must be t'little un. Hey up, he's a bobby dazzler, in't 'e?' Andy tickled little Richard gently under his chin. ‘Oochy coochy coo,' he burbled. ‘Oochy coochy coo.'

The baby immediately started screaming.

‘I allus 'ave that effect on kiddies,' Andy said laughing. ‘I'm all reight wi' sheep an' beeasts but when it comes to babbies, they allus start a-rooarin when I look at 'em.'

‘I think he's hungry,' Christine explained. ‘Don't take it personally, Andy.'

‘I nivver do, missis,' said the boy, beaming. ‘Life's too short to tek things personally.'

‘So,' said Christine, rocking the baby in an attempt to quieten him, ‘is everything arranged?'

‘It appears so,' I said.

‘So what's wi' t'squirrels, then?' Andy asked.

‘Who told you about the squirrel?' I said.

‘Well, I've seen 'em',' he replied.

‘
Them?
' Christine and I asked in unison. ‘There's more than one? Where?'

‘There's a brace on 'em round back in a cage,' replied the boy, ‘runnin' around as if somebody's put a fireworkup their backsides.'

As he had promised, Maurice Hinderwell had delivered a squirrel cage to the office at the beginning of the week. When I arrived home that evening, I had done as he had suggested and had positioned the rectangular wire cage with the trap door a short distance from the house in a corner of the back garden, secluded yet quite close to the squirrel's point of entry under the eaves. I stocked it with a handful of honey-coated peanuts. However, much to my dismay, our nocturnal visitor obviously had a liking for our roof, and my slumbers were greatly disturbed by the pitter-patter and scratching above me of a squirrel that didn't seem to need the sleep that I did, by a nervous wife who prodded me in the back whenever she was woken by the squirrel, not to mention a fractious baby who wanted feeding. Each morning, I would checkthe trap but it remained irritatingly empty. I was beginning to wonder if I would have to call in Maurice Hinderwell to help me.

‘So we've caught
two
squirrels?' I asked Andy now.

‘Big uns, an' all,' said the boy. ‘Dust tha want to look at 'em?'

Christine picked a shawl out of the carrycot and gently covered Richard with it, then the Phinn family went out into the garden with Andy to view our bushy-tailed captives, which were cowering in the furthest corner of the cage.

‘Ahh,' said Christine, ‘aren't they sweet?'

‘You didn't say that last night when they were scratching and scraping in the loft,' I grumbled. ‘I'm black and blue with all that poking.' Andy gave me a strange look.

‘They lookrather scared,' said Christine, peering down into the cage, ‘but at the same time very cute with their little furry faces and bushy tails. Just like in the picture books.'

‘Tree rats,' said Andy bluntly. ‘Does tha want me to get rid of 'em for you?'

‘Not kill them!' exclaimed Christine, looking aghast. ‘You don't mean to kill them, do you, Andy?'

‘Best thing, missis,' replied the boy. ‘They're vermin. 'Armful to game, crops, farm animals, vegetation, an' they carry disease an' all. Best thing to do is kill 'em. I'll just drop t'cage in your watter butt an' drown t'little devils.'

‘No, no,' said Christine firmly, ‘I won't let you do that.'

‘They're no good as pets, if that's what yer thinkin', Missis Phinn,' he told her.

‘I know that,' said Christine, ‘but I don't want them killed. My husband will take them somewhere well away from here and set them free.'

‘Will I?' I asked.

‘Yes, you will,' she said firmly.

‘Suit thissen, missis,' said Andy, shrugging, ‘but they'll be back. You mark my words. This is their territory an', sure as sixpence, they'll be back.'

‘Not if I take them a good distance,' I said.

‘Want to bet on it?' asked Andy. ‘I'll wager thee a fiver to a penny they'll be back.'

‘How will you know?' I asked. ‘One squirrel looks pretty much like another.'

‘I'll show thee,' said Andy, ‘hang on a mo,' and he walked across to the back door where he had left an old hold-all, out of which poked various tools. He rifled through the contents and returned holding a spray can. ‘I shall be using this rust-repellent undercoat on one of Missis Poskitt's yats later on. I'll put a touch on t'tails of these two critters and then we'll know whether or not it's t'same squirrels if we catch any more.'

Before I could argue with the boy, he liberally sprayed the tails of the two terrified creatures with the darkred-coloured paint. The squirrels went into a frenzy, squealing, scrabbling around the cage in circles and displaying sets of sharp, vicious-looking teeth.

‘You were a bit heavy handed with that paint, Andy,' Christine observed. ‘Their tails are totally coated.'

‘Won't 'urt 'em, missis. Soon come off will that paint,' Andy
said, winking at me. ‘Now, if a couple o' grey squirrels wi' red tails are in your trap next week, we'll know I was reight, won't we, an' you, Mester Phinn, will be 'andin' ovver a fiver.'

Andy worked hard in the garden for the next three hours, and when he left to go down to paint Mrs Poskitt's gate, the place looked a whole lot better. The sun had come out, and it had turned into a glorious early autumn day. I suggested to Christine that we should load the squirrels into the car and take them up to the moors to release them.

So, with the caged creatures, which didn't seem any less lively with their red undercoat, safely in the boot of the car, baby Richard securely strapped in the backand Christine beside me, we set off for what I assumed would be an uneventful drive. I set off at a leisurely pace through Hawksrill village with its cluster of grey stone cottages, ancient Norman church and the little school.

As we passed the pub, the Royal Oak, Christine pointed out of the window. ‘Look,' she said, ‘it's been done up.' The window frames and door had been painted a bright green and there were two large stone troughs on either side planted with dahlias.

‘It's the inside that Harry has been moaning about,' I said, driving on.

We were just out of the village when Christine tapped my arm. ‘Pull over,' she said, ‘there's Harry, waving at us.'

‘Do I have to?'

‘Yes, you do,' she said. ‘He's been really helpful and I want to thankhim for sending Andy up to sort out the garden.'

Reluctantly, I pulled over and wound down the window.

Harry was standing by a gate, beside a man who could have been his twin. Buster, the Border terrier, was sitting at their feet. Both men had the same weather-reddened, craggy countenances, sharp noses and substantial outcrops of silver hair. They were attired in threadbare tweed working jackets, collarless white shirts, baggy blue serge trousers and heavy boots and both sported ancient brown flat caps.

‘Good morning,' I said pleasantly.

‘How do,' said Harry. His companion nodded.