The Heart of the Dales (22 page)

‘Beautiful day,' I said, looking through the windscreen at a seamless sky of eggshell blue.

‘So far,' grunted Harry. ‘Tha knaas what I allus says: “If rooks fly 'igh, t'weather will be dry. If rooks fly low, we're sure to 'ave a blow.”'

‘I haven't seen any rooks,' I said.

‘'Appen tha will.' He nodded in the direction of his companion. ‘This is mi brother, Cyril.'

‘Good morning,' I said. Cyril nodded. ‘I'm sorry I was a bit short the last time I saw you, Harry. I'd had a busy day and was very tired.'

He nodded.

‘Morning, Harry,' said Christine, leaning over me and giving him one of her disarming smiles.

‘Mornin', missis,' he replied.

‘Morning, Cyril,' said Christine. Harry's brother tapped the peakof his cap.

‘Thank you for sending Andy up to do our garden,' I said. ‘He's making a splendid job of it.'

‘Does thy 'ear that, Cyril? Andy's doin' a good job up theer at Peewit Cottage.'

Harry's brother nodded but the expression remained unchanged on his craggy face.

‘I've just been talkin' to our Andy,' Harry told me. ‘Met 'im on 'is way to owld Mrs Poskitt's to paint 'er iron yats. 'E were tellin' me there's a fair bit to do up at Peewit Cottage. Course, there allus is with these owld cottages. Place were all but fallin' dahn when owld Mrs Olleranshaw 'ad it. I don't know why people bother doing 'em up, missen. Gimme me a modern 'ouse any time. You sooart one thing owt – dry rot, creepin' damp, woodworm, subsidence – and then there's another problem reight behind. T'squirrels are t'least o' your worries.'

‘Andy told you about the squirrels then?' I asked.

‘Aye, he said you'd 'ad an infestation.'

‘Hardly that,' I said. ‘Just a couple and I've caught them.'

‘Weer there's two, there's likely more,' said Harry. ‘They do breed tha knaas, do squirrels.'

‘Bloody nuisances,' growled Cyril.

‘They are that,' said Harry. He turned his attention back to me. ‘And I 'ear that tha's set on letting 'em go?'

‘We wouldn't like to kill them,' said Christine.

‘Townsfolk!' explained Harry to his brother.

‘Typical,' replied Cyril.

‘Tree rats, that's what they are,' said Harry. ‘Vermin.'

‘They wants shootin',' said Cyril.

‘Tha reight there,' agreed his brother. ‘If I find any squirrels, I mek short workon 'em, I can tell thee that.'

As if on cue the squirrels in the boot began scrabbling and scratching in their cage.

‘What's that?' asked Harry.

‘Oh, just the baby,' I lied. ‘Well, we must be making tracks.'

‘Andy'll do it for thee if tha's a bit squeamish,' said Harry.

‘Do what?'

‘Dispose of your squirrels.'

‘No, Thank you,' I said, starting the car.

‘Trouble with townsfolk,' said Harry, addressing his brother, ‘is they don't understand abaat t'ways of t'country. Rabbits, foxes, squirrels, badgers, they get all sentimental about 'em and then start interferin' in our way o' life.'

‘Bloody nuisances,' growled Cyril.

‘Turn off t'engine a minute,' Harry told me, ‘an' I'll tell thee abaat summat what 'appened up at your cottage when old Mrs Olleranshaw lived there.' I dutifully turned off the engine. ‘I was passing t'gate of your cottage some year backan' a game bird dropped out o' t'blue in front of me. They was shootin' at t'time up on Lord Marrick's estate and this pheasant, which must 'ave bin clipped by one o' these chinless, cross-eyed aristocrats wi' a shotgun, fell out of t'sky an' landed smack bang in front of me. Manna from 'eaven, it were. Sunday lunch delivered at mi feet. Any road, I'd just picked t'pheasant up when these two ramblers walked by.'

‘Bloody nuisances,' growled Cyril.

‘They are that,' agreed his brother. ‘Any road, these two ramblers must 'ave been seventy if they were a day, wi' great big boots an' bobble hats an' rucksacks an' fancy walkin' sticks. They stopped in their tracks when they saw me pickin' up this bird. ‘Ooo,' says one, a woman wi' a face like one o' them gargoyles on t'church, ‘poor creature. Is it hurt?' Is it 'urt, I thowt to missen, its bloody wing's 'angin' off. Course it's 'urt. But it won't be 'urtin' in a minute, I told missen. ‘Can you fix it?' she asks. ‘Oh, yes, missis,' I says, ‘I can fix it all reight.' Any road, when they were a bit down t'track I got hold of t'pheasant an' wi' one quick– '

‘I don't want to hear,' said Christine quickly.

‘See what I means, Cyril,' laughed Harry, ‘over-bloodysentimental, that's what townsfolkare.' He shookhis head. ‘They don't mind a bit o' meat on their plate but they don't like to think 'ow it got theer. An' next time I turn up on your doorstep, Mrs Phinn, wi' a nice plump pheasant for you under mi arm, I don't expect that you'll be askin' 'ow it met its end.'

‘And how are you getting on with the new landlord of the Royal Oak?' I asked Harry mischievously.

‘Don't you bloody start me off !' he exclaimed. ‘He's another of yer ‘off-comed-uns', is that new landlord! Knows nowt about country ways. Knows nowt about tradition. Comes up from t'south wi' all his fancy ideas and pulls t'place apart. Tha wunt recognise it. Tekken all stuff off t'walls, pulled t'carpet up, changed furniture. Tha wunt recognise t'place now. We're gerrin a pertition up in t'village, so 'appen I'll be callin' round for thy signature.'

We left the two brothers standing at the gate discussing the pub's new landlord.

‘You did that deliberately, didn't you?' said Christine.

‘What?'

‘Mention the new landlord of the pub. You were winding him up.'

‘Well, I'm getting my own back on him for always going
on and on about my neglected garden and the wretched overgrown allotment. I now know a sure-fire way of getting old Harry Cotton to change the subject – just mention the new landlord of the Royal Oak.'

We drove on for several miles, past pale green fields where flocks of black-faced sheep meandered between bleached limestone walls and sleepy-looking cattle, chewing the cud, stared impassively.

After about fifteen minutes, Christine said suddenly, ‘What about there? You could release the squirrels in that little copse.'

Beyond a field was a clump of tall firs surrounded by thick bushes.

‘It's right off the road,' I said. ‘It would be easier if I put them out here.'

‘It's not that far and, look, there's a track down the side of the field leading to it. We don't want to have brought them this far for them to get run over, do we?'

‘All right,' I grumbled, ‘but I can thinkof a lot better things to do on a Saturday than trekking across a field with a cage full of multicoloured squirrels.'

‘Like digging the allotment?' said Christine impishly.

So, taking the cage with its contents from the boot, I set off down the trackthat led to the edge of the little covert. It took some time to persuade the wretched creatures to leave the cage. I shookit, tilted it, even lifted it up and tipped it upside down but they hung on to the wire in the corner of the cage, chattering angrily and refusing to move. Finally, I wedged open the door with a twig and waited. After what seemed an age, they left their prison and scampered off into the grass and up a tree where they flicked their red bushy tails before disappearing in the branches.

I had just set off backdown the trackwhen a loud voice sounded behind me. ‘Hey, you there! What do you think you're doing?'

I stopped and turned to see that a figure had come round from the back of the trees. He was a small, sinister-looking man, wiry of frame and with a face as wrinkled and brown as
an old russet apple. He was wearing leather gaiters and a green padded waistcoat and carried a shotgun under his arm.

I tried a conciliatory smile but to no effect. ‘Good morning,' I croaked somewhat nervously.

He glowered at me in return and raised the shotgun. ‘You're trespassing,' he told me in a deadpan voice.

‘I'm sorry, I didn't realise,' I replied.

‘This is Lord Marrick's estate,' he told me, eyeing the cage I was holding. ‘What are you doing?'

‘It sounds rather bizarre,' I started.

‘Try me.'

‘I was releasing some squirrels.'

The man curled a lip and lowered the gun. ‘Releasing some squirrels?' he repeated very slowly, as if I had said something highly offensive. ‘What do you mean “releasing some squirrels”?'

I attempted to explain. ‘I had – er – caught a couple of squirrels and was letting them go.'

‘Why did you want to catch them in the first place?' he asked.

It seemed, thankgoodness, that he hadn't actually caught sight of my releasing the squirrels with their red tails. I could just imagine the difficulty in explaining that one. ‘They decided to make their home in my cottage,' I told him. ‘I managed to catch them and was just setting them free.'

‘Setting them free?'

‘Yes.'

‘On Lord Marrick's land?'

‘I wasn't aware that it was Lord Marrick's land.' Had I known, I thought, I certainly wouldn't have chosen it as the place to release the squirrels.

‘Well, it is.'

‘May I askwho you are?' I was becoming rather irritated by this interrogation.

‘I'm Lord Marrick's gamekeeper,' he told me, ‘and I spend most of my time killing vermin that eat the eggs of his lordship's game birds and seeing off poachers and trespassers.'

‘I'm not a poacher!' I exclaimed. ‘I wasn't trying to catch animals, just to free them.'

He ignored me and continued. ‘So I spend my time killing vermin and you decide to dump it on Lord Marrick's estate.'

‘I didn't see it quite like that,' I said lamely, ‘but now that you have explained…'

The man narrowed his eyes and thrust his chin forward. He turned the shotgun, which was pointing towards the ground, restlessly in his hands. ‘You do know that squirrels are vermin, don't you?'

‘I've been told as much.'

‘And are you aware of the damage they cause?' he asked.

‘No, not really,' I replied.

‘Well, let me tell you. Young saplings, which we plant in this woodland at great expense, are destroyed by your squirrels. They gnaw through the barkof the hardwood trees, the newly planted beech and sycamores, to get at the sap. They leave a raw scar, which encourages a fungus, which can kill or deform trees. Did you know that?'

‘I wasn't aware of that, but –' I started.

‘And I don't suppose that you were aware either that it is illegal to either keep or release grey squirrels unless you have a special licence from the Ministry of Agriculture. Have you such a licence?'

‘No.' Personally, I thought the man was making a great fuss about something pretty trivial but I kept my thoughts to myself and kept my eyes on his shotgun. ‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘I didn't realise.'

The gamekeeper sucked in his bottom lip and scratched his head. ‘I'm minded to take you up to Manston Hall with me and get you to explain yourself to his Lordship.'

‘I won't do it again.' I sounded like a naughty schoolboy caught in the act by an angry headteacher. The last thing I wanted was to be hauled up in front of Lord Marrick, who just happened to sit on the Education Committee and whom I had worked with on a number of occasions during the past few years.

‘Well, make sure you don't. Now, take your bloody cage,' ordered the gamekeeper, ‘get off this land and if I see you again, you'll get a backside full of buckshot.'

‘You were a long time,' said Christine when I arrived, hot and flustered, backat the car. ‘I was beginning to worry. Have you released them?'

‘I have,' I said shortly. I was keen to be on our way.

‘I think they'll be happy in that little wood, don't you?' she asked.

‘Idyllically,' I replied and thinking of what awaited them if they so much as showed a glimpse of their red tails.

‘Come along,' said Christine the following day before lunch. ‘Get your coat. I'm taking you for a drink.'

‘What's brought this on?' I asked. ‘I thought you wanted me to dig the allotment this afternoon –'

‘I was thinking about what Harry told us yesterday about the changes at the Royal Oak, and I think it's about time we met the new landlord,' she told me. ‘He's obviously been treading on a lot of toes in the village with all the changes he's been making since he took over. I've heard other mutterings. I thought we'd pop in and have a look for ourselves.'

‘Will your mother keep an eye on Richard?' I asked.

‘Yes, and she's also offered to do the vegetables, so we've got an hour before lunch is ready.'

Chris's mother had come over to measure the armchair that she was going to re-cover for us, and now appeared in the kitchen, a tape measure round her neck. ‘Go on out, you two. Take the chance while I'm here.'

‘But if I have a pint now, I'll be no good for digging the allotment after lunch.'

‘Look,' said Christine, putting her hands on her hips, ‘we have precious little time to go out together what with the baby, so when my mother agrees to lookafter him for an hour, we're going out. No arguments. Now come along, chop, chop.'

‘I love it when you play the headteacher,' I said, laughing. ‘You're like a dominatrix.'

‘If you don't hurry up,' she said, ‘I'll get my whip out.'

‘OK, but do we have to go to the Royal Oak? You said yourself that it was a run-down, friendless place.'

‘Yes, we do,' she said, handing me my jacket. ‘I want to
meet the new landlord and see what changes he's made. Despite what Harry says, there are some people in the village who will welcome the change. Anyone taking over the Royal Oak would be an improvement on the previous incumbent. That Mr Clarke was such an unpleasant man, running his poor little wife off her feet. It's a wonder people ever went in. Landlords are supposed to be hospitable and friendly, not downright rude. Anyway, it's about time that old pub was brought into the nineteenth century, never mind the twentieth.'