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  Charlesworth bought the sheep himself at a local market and bought twice as many rams as ewes; Harry reckoned that he couldn’t tell the difference. Neither did he know anything about dipping, and had no ready pool or stream for them. The farm workers, used to harvesting grain and root crops and unused to sheep, went elsewhere, but loyal Harry, not wanting to leave the farm where he’d worked since leaving school, hung on.

  Then, late the following summer, came the final blow. Charlesworth gave them notice to quit the tied cottage and told Harry he was taking on a Dales man who knew about sheep and would be bringing his family. He was going to make him foreman and told Harry he could stay on as a labourer if he wished.

  ‘I’m contracted until November Hirings,’ Harry said stubbornly. ‘Or you can pay me up to then and I’ll leave next week. Them’s the rules, Mr Charlesworth, as you’ll know, being a legal man.’

  Charlesworth blustered and said he’d think about it and Harry hoped he hadn’t been too hasty. They’d have nowhere to live and they now had three children to consider. As he’d asked, Ellen had dutifully produced a boy, whom they’d named Thomas.

  ‘I can ask my ma if I can bring ’bairns and stay with them till you find another farm. Mebbe you can stay with your ma and da? They’ve both got more space since all our sisters have married.’

  Harry wasn’t happy about that either, but realized they wouldn’t have any other option. But then Charlesworth changed his mind and agreed that they could stay until November. It seemed as if he had taken advice, and as he had no legitimate reason to sack Harry it wouldn’t look good in the farming community; word would get round and farmhands would be unwilling to work for him.

  ‘We’ve time to pack everything,’ Ellen said, trying to keep cheerful. ‘You’ll soon get another farm.’

  But he didn’t, even though he put out the word that he was looking for another position. There were seasonal labouring jobs, but Harry wanted something more permanent, something he could settle into.

  ‘If we had the money,’ he pondered one evening, ‘I could settle for working for myself. Just a small plot, just enough to keep us.’

  Ellen had shaken her head. ‘No, you couldn’t,’ she said. ‘You like ’security of working on big farms, you enjoy having a lot of acreage to look after, and, be honest, you like looking after large herds of animals too.’ She paused. ‘And ’camaraderie of working with other men.’

  ‘Camaraderie,’ he joked. ‘My wife, the reader of big words.’

  ‘Well, what would you have called it?’ she challenged him.

  He thought about it and then said, ‘Aye, you’re right. Companionship. Friendship. I do. I’ve known most of ’lads round here since I was just a nipper. I wouldn’t really want to work on my own.’

  He wouldn’t, she thought. He was such an easygoing, friendly man. Everybody liked him. Everybody trusted him, and that was all very well, but if there were no jobs going … She sighed and thought that she might ask her mother if she’d be willing to look after the children for a couple of days a week, and ask around to see if there were any washing or ironing jobs in some of the big houses. Or she could ask Mrs Hodges if she could help out there.

  When Ellen visited her mother she agreed that she would have the children for one day a week, but said she couldn’t manage more. She was already looking after Frances’s little girl and Julia’s son for two days.

  ‘I’m not as young as I was,’ she said. Sarah had the bones of a sparrow and was stick thin in spite of having given birth to ten children. ‘You girls forget.’

  ‘You’re not old either, Ma, but you’re right, we should try to manage just as you used to,’ Ellen agreed. ‘It’s not fair of us to expect you to help out.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like having ’em here,’ Sarah said. ‘I do, but when they’re all together they run rings round me.’

  She looked at Ellen’s three children and they gazed solemnly back at her. ‘Especially you, young peazan,’ she said fondly to Thomas, who was sitting angelically on his mother’s lap chewing on his wet fist, with his round cheeks rosy from teething. He dropped his fist and struggled to slide down on to the floor, where he crawled rapidly to his grandmother’s feet. Heaving himself up by her skirts, he pummelled her knees until she picked him up and nuzzled her nose into his neck, making him squeal. ‘I love ’smell o’ young bairns,’ she murmured, and Ellen was reminded that her mother really wasn’t old. She had spent her youthful years of marriage giving birth to her children. Ten children should be enough for any woman to bring up into adulthood, she considered. Ma was one of only a few women of their acquaintance who hadn’t lost a child in infancy.

  Three were enough for her and Harry, she thought, but no doubt they would have more; how could you avoid a pregnancy when you had a loving marriage? Impossible, no matter how careful you might be.

  ‘What ’you doing, Ma?’ she asked as her mother put Thomas on the floor to crawl, and picked Mary up on to her knee. Sarah was pressing her fingers to Mary’s throat and behind her ears.

  ‘I just thought she seemed a bit quiet; a bit, you know, wearisome.’

  ‘She’s been quiet all day,’ Ellen said. ‘And she said her throat was hurting. I hope she’s not going down with something.’

  ‘She feels hot. When you get home, sponge her down wi’ cool water and let her chew on a strip o’ willow bark. Then put her to bed and see if she’ll sleep. She should settle.’

  The toddler put her head against her grandmother’s chest and closed her eyes. Sarah kissed the child’s forehead. ‘She’s not well,’ she murmured.

  When baby Sarah was born, Harry had made a wooden cradle and Ellen had made a pretty cover for it; then, as Sarah grew and became too heavy for Ellen to carry when she was pregnant with Mary, he’d fashioned a wooden box on wheels with a long wooden shaft for a handle. Ellen had padded the box with an old cotton sheet stuffed with feathers, as she had done for the cradle, and used it as a perambulator, for they were not able to afford that modern luxury; such things were not for them. She could at least pull or push the cart as far as her mother’s house and home again.

  Now, with little Sarah walking alongside her, she put both Mary and Thomas in the cart and set out for home. The cart was heavy with both children in it and by the time they arrived home she was tired; she lifted a sleepy Thomas into her arms and then patted Mary’s cheek to rouse her. ‘Come on, m’darling, let’s have you inside and mek you a drink.’

  But Mary was lethargic and grizzly and couldn’t summon the energy to climb out of the box. ‘Open ’door for me, Sarah,’ Ellen asked. ‘Can you lift ’latch?’

  But Sarah wasn’t tall enough to reach the latch, so with Thomas in her arms Ellen hurried up the stony path, opened the door and placed the baby in a chair, where he immediately awoke and began to wail. Ellen ran back to Mary, who was slumped in the cart as limp as a rag. She picked her up and put her to her shoulder. The child was burning hot and Ellen rushed inside, unfastening the buttons on her daughter’s coat and removing her bonnet as she went. Mary’s hair was wet with sweat.

  Ellen set her down in a chair and undid the fastenings on her dress, then quickly reached for the enamel bowl in the sink, which she had scrubbed out that morning with carbolic soap. She poured water into the bowl from the kettle, which fortunately had been standing in the hearth and not on the kettle hook so was not very hot, then removed all Mary’s clothing, stood her in the bowl and rinsed her down with a flannel.

  Sarah began to giggle and undo her shoes, and Ellen saw that she thought they were playing a game and wanted to join in; then Thomas turned himself round and began sliding out of the chair she had settled him in. He landed with a bump on the floor and began to scream.

  Mary could barely stand, her arms and legs were so feeble, but Ellen kept her arm round her and continued to sponge her, trying to cool her down.

  Sarah had given up on the buttons on her shoes and was trying to climb into the bowl with Mary. ‘No
, Sarah, you must wait,’ Ellen said. ‘Please go and play with Thomas so that he doesn’t cry.’ Then the door opened and Harry came in.

  ‘What’s going on? I can hear Thomas shrieking from outside.’ He bent down and picked up his son. ‘Stop that now, Thomas. Ellen, he’s got blood on his mouth. He’s cut himself.’

  ‘He fell out of the chair.’ Now that Harry was home, Ellen turned her full attention to Mary. ‘Mary’s sick.’

  She wrapped the child in a blanket, for she was now shivering. ‘Put some water in ’kettle, Harry,’ she said, ‘but don’t overfill it.’ She tried to recall what her mother had said. Willow bark, that was it. She kept some in a tin; it was a cure-all for childish ailments and headaches too, but Mary needed to drink. ‘Put it over ’fire,’ she said, her voice trembling, and Harry put Thomas down and took Mary from her, cradling her in his arms.

  ‘I’ll hold her. You get whatever you need; you know where everything is,’ he said, sitting with Mary on his knee and Thomas squashed at his side so that he couldn’t escape.

  He looked down at the little girl and lightly stroked her cheek with his finger. He took a breath; she was shaking, and her breathing was laboured, and he lifted her so that she was leaning into him and gently he rubbed her back. Ellen brought a cup of tepid water, but instead of lifting it to Mary’s lips he asked Ellen to bring a spoon and dribbled a spot of water on to them, and when she opened her mouth he trickled in a drop more.

  ‘Sit down, Ellen,’ he said quietly, and she gazed at him with wide and frightened eyes and did as he asked.

  Carefully, he stood up and placed Mary in her arms. ‘Just hold her,’ he said and knelt beside her, drawing Sarah and Thomas towards them; his eyes filled with tears and his voice choked as he murmured a prayer, and added, ‘I’m going to run for ’doctor. Keep her safe.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was fortunate that the doctor lived in Holmpton village and had come home for his midday meal before beginning his district rounds; his housekeeper answered Harry’s urgent hammering on the door and the doctor saddled up his horse and set off immediately as Harry ran back home.

  Harry raced across meadows and through a thin copse to shorten his journey and heard the children as he ran down the path to the cottage. He pushed open the door and saw Ellen trying to pacify Thomas, who now had a very swollen lip, and Sarah splashing her hands in the bowl of water, while Mary was lying on her mother’s knee and rasping as if she wanted to cough.

  ‘Doctor’s on his way,’ he said breathlessly and picked up Thomas to quieten him. ‘He said there’s measles in Holmpton.’

  ‘Oh, no, please. Not measles,’ Ellen moaned. ‘There’s no cure for that. But she hasn’t got spots, so—’

  ‘He’s here.’ Harry had heard the horse’s tread outside. ‘Come on, Thomas, let’s go and look at ’doctor’s hoss.’

  He opened the door and took hold of the horse’s snaffle as the doctor dismounted. ‘Inside, sir. I’ll mek ’hoss fast.’

  He hooked the reins over an iron peg and let Thomas stroke the mare’s neck and then followed the doctor into the house.

  The doctor was a youngish man, new to the district after the previous physician’s retirement, and he was already kneeling by Ellen’s side with his left hand against Mary’s forehead and the other fumbling to open a small black box.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ Harry put Thomas down.

  ‘No, thank you.’ The doctor removed his hand from Mary to open the box, which contained a glass thermometer wrapped in a piece of flannel that smelled strongly of antiseptic. ‘It’s rather precious. I wouldn’t like to drop it.’ He shook the instrument vigorously and asked Ellen to lift Mary’s dress, then placed the thermometer beneath the child’s armpit and waited.

  ‘Is that a thermometer, doctor?’ Harry asked. ‘I’ve never seen one so small.’

  The doctor nodded, and after a few moments removed the instrument and looked at it steadily. ‘Medium fever,’ he murmured, and then sat back on his haunches. ‘Has she complained of a sore throat, or earache?’ he asked Ellen.

  ‘A sore throat, yes, but not earache.’ Ellen found she was trembling. ‘Though she was rubbing the back of her neck. And she didn’t want to eat or drink anything.’

  The doctor looked down Mary’s throat. ‘She perhaps found it painful to swallow,’ he said. ‘Her throat is inflamed.’ He patted the little girl’s arm and looked up at Harry. ‘Yes, it is a thermometer. A much smaller and more convenient one than we’ve had previously.’ He wrapped the instrument in the piece of flannel and put it back in the box. ‘It tells me that your little girl does not have a high fever, so I don’t think she has measles, but if she comes out in spots’ – he turned to Ellen – ‘you must send for me immediately, and keep the other children away from her as it’s very contagious.’

  He thought for a moment before going on, ‘At worst it might be quinsy. At best, tonsillitis. If she has difficulty swallowing, don’t worry about her not eating, but give her sips of cool boiled water. Just continue what you’ve been doing.’ He glanced at the bowl of water. ‘Bathe her to bring down her temperature, but don’t let her get cold either.’

  ‘Thank you, doctor,’ Ellen said tearfully. ‘We’re very grateful.’

  He nodded. ‘Keep the other children away, if you can. One sick child is enough to deal with.’

  When Harry had seen the doctor out, he turned to Ellen. ‘I’ll tek Sarah and Thomas to my ma and ask if she’ll look after them for a day or two, just until Mary’s got over ’fever.’

  Ellen knew Harry well enough to know he was still worried about Mary; she had seen it in his face when he said he was going to fetch the doctor. She shook her head. ‘Not Thomas,’ she said. ‘He’s too much for her. Besides, I have to feed him. Just tek Sarah. She’s no bother.’

  Sarah was weaned but Mary and Thomas were not; he was a greedy and demanding child and would scream if he was hungry and her milk wasn’t readily available.

  ‘But Mary needs feeding too. Isn’t it a risk?’

  ‘I’ll bathe with carbolic,’ she said briskly. Women understood these things; she wouldn’t risk passing on infection between her children. ‘And I’ll wean Mary on to a bottle.’

  Harry dressed Sarah in her coat and bonnet and told her they were going to see Granny Randell and she went with him quite happily. He returned in half an hour to say that his sister Meg had just weaned her latest child and had said she would wet-nurse Thomas if Ellen agreed.

  Ellen raised her eyebrows and thought Meg might regret the offer, as Thomas could bite with his sharp little teeth, but she was too grateful to demur. It meant she could now concentrate solely on Mary, who coughed and wheezed and was still very lethargic and sleepy in her arms.

  When Harry came back after delivering Thomas to his willing aunt he found both Ellen and Mary fast asleep, at least he hoped Mary was only asleep. He put his fingers near to her mouth to feel if she was still breathing; she stirred slightly and gave a little cough but didn’t wake.

  He tiptoed to the fire and shook the kettle to make sure there was water in it before placing it over the coals, then sat down in the other fireside chair and gazed at Ellen and Mary. He should have been at work; he had only come home because he wanted to ask Ellen something, and had found her in the middle of a crisis, with a sick child and a screaming toddler. Now she was fast asleep, strands of hair escaping from the bonnet that she hadn’t had time to take off.

  The kettle began to steam. Quietly, he opened a cupboard to take out two cups and a teapot and made tea. Ellen began to stir, and he tiptoed out of the room to fetch a jug of milk from the scullery. When he returned, Ellen was awake and looked at him sleepily.

  ‘Goodness,’ she murmured. ‘What am I doing sleeping during the day?’

  ‘A lady of leisure, you are,’ he joked softly, so as not to waken Mary. ‘A manservant making you a pot of tea! Whatever is ’world coming to?’

  ‘It’s not the right order of things, is
it? Especially for a man who was spoiled by all his sisters.’

  ‘No indeed,’ he said, pouring the tea. ‘My ma would have a seizure if she should see me.’

  ‘Don’t tell her then, will you?’ Ellen gave him a grateful smile as she took the cup from him. ‘Will Sarah be all right with her?’

  ‘She’s had a few children of her own, hasn’t she? I think she’ll manage! How do you think Mary is faring?’

  Ellen shook her head, glancing down at the sleeping child. ‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s not so hot now. I think ’willow bark helped. I might never have thought of it if my mother hadn’t said.’

  ‘These mothers know a thing or two.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘You’ll be ’same when you’ve got a few more years on your back.’

  ‘Why did you come home?’ she asked suddenly. ‘Although I’m glad that you did. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t walked in the door.’

  ‘A knight in shining armour,’ he said. ‘Well, ’fact is …’ He hesitated. ‘I came to tell you something, and to ask you something as well. But it can wait. I ought to be getting back or Charlesworth will have something to say about me slacking.’ He rose to his feet. ‘We’ll discuss it later.’

  Ellen sat up, disturbing, but not waking, Mary. ‘Put her in ’bed for me, will you? She might sleep now.’

  Harry took Mary from her arms and Ellen opened the door into the bedroom where he put her down on the bed and covered her with a blanket. Mary turned over and put her thumb in her mouth.

  They both smiled, and Harry took Ellen’s hand as they tiptoed out. ‘I think she’ll be all right now,’ he whispered. ‘That’s a proper sleep she’s having.’

  Ellen wiped away a tear. ‘I was so worried. What would we do if we lost any of them?’

  ‘Hush,’ he said, wrapping his arms round her and dropping a kiss on her forehead. ‘Don’t think of it.’

  ‘So what were you going to tell me?’ she said. ‘Just so that I can think about it until you come home.’