‘Adler Tag,’ Vaughn repeated, relishing his role as school master. ‘Adlermeans eagle. AndTagmeans day.’
‘What language?’ Frankie asked.
‘German,’ Vaughn said.
‘Lord Matheson’s been listening to too much of our friend Lord Haw-Haw,’ I joked, but Frankie wasn’t convinced. He backed away, keeping a wary eye on Vaughn.
*
The day went as days do when you have a seemingly insurmountable task in front of you, but you keep at it slowly and steadily. After breakfast we moved on to Dadswell’s Flat, the largest field. Elizabeth, sitting regally on her tractor, cut down the golden wheat one strip at a time, and we followed behind, bent to our tasks. Conversation dropped off, and every man and woman found their rhythm. Each one of us found the satisfaction of doing a worthwhile job that needed doing.
I’d been worried about Margaret and Miriam, society women who’d been raised to believe that everything they ever wanted would be brought to them on a silver platter, but they were doing their bit. Margaret worked in a slow, steady manner, every sheaf impeccable with hardly any loose straw left in her wake. She caught my eye, realising I waswatching her, and grinned. Miriam had a different style. Every step was hurried, and she zigzagged across her patch like a spaniel hunting a bird. She left quite a trail of missed corn. We’d be down a sack or two of grain by the end of the field. But still an invaluable pair of hands. Miriam had discarded her cardigan as soon as the sun had cleared the trees, and her shoulders were getting pink. She’d unbuttoned the top few buttons of her blouse, and as she bent to pick up the corn I realised I was far from the only man in the field watching her.
Freddie joined me, lighting a cigarette.
‘Uncanny, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘They could be sisters.’
Miriam and Margaret shared a joke as they crossed in the field. Margaret sensed us watching, and she gave a wave.
Freddie was right. I’d noticed it the first time I saw them together at Vaughn’s party, but since then I’d got used to it and stopped seeing it. Margaret and Miriam moved differently, and came at their work in their own unique ways, but when it came to physical appearance they were like peas in a pod.
‘Makes you wonder what’s going through Vaughn’s mind,’ Freddie said, ‘the way he goes after Margaret like a dog after a bone.’
I ignored him, and looked away from Miriam and Margaret. I had a whole field of people to keep an eye on.
‘I reckon you could get them both in the sack at the same time, if you played your cards right,’ he said.
I started to tell him to keep his foul mouth shut, but he grinned. He had a disarming way of being insulting while not being hateful. It made it hard to take against him.
‘No smoking,’ I said. ‘This whole field could go up.’
Freddie weighed the ups and downs of picking a fight. He flicked his half-smoked fag into the stubble.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, giving me a wink.
I followed the arc of the cigarette and ground it out. I turned back to him, ready to tell him off for being a fool, but he was already ambling away, back to his place in the line.
67
The river snaked its way through the lower meadow. At some points it was only ten feet across, the cow parsley growing on either bank almost touching in the middle.
Here, at a broad oxbow, it widened. The far bank was twenty yards away, shadowed by a willow that leant over the water.
Freddie landed with a splash and a yell. He surfaced with a whoop, entirely unabashed about being naked in front of a mixed crowd.
‘Beautiful!’ Freddie yelled. ‘Come on in!’
The day had gone well. Bill Taylor was paying off the locals, many of whom would be heading straight for the pub. Freddie had hit on the idea of jumping into the river and wouldn’t let up until I relented. If he wanted to act like a pup, I couldn’t see the harm in it.
Vaughn pulled off his shirt.
‘Look away, ladies,’ he said, as he pulled off his trousers and underwear. He picked his way through a patch of nettles on the bank and launched himself into the water with a shout.
‘You’re next, Cook!’ Freddie shouted, as he trod water in the middle of the channel. Vaughn swam across to the far side, disappearing under the canopy of willow.
I didn’t fancy the nettles, so I walked upstream twenty yards to the bridge. In former years we used it to get thecattle across to the meadows on the other side. We’d got rid of the herd last year, on government orders, but the bridge was still caked with dried cow dung. I pulled off my shirt and draped it over the railing, giving the sweat-soaked back a fighting chance of drying out while I was in the water.
‘Cover your eyes, Miriam,’ Margaret said, putting her hand in front of Miriam’s face. I stripped off quickly and leapt from the bridge. Too late, I hoped the river was deep enough. The last time I’d done this was as a boy, more than thirty years ago.
