Rachel's Pudding Pantry Page 2

  She shifted carefully off the bed and leaned over to give her little girl a gentle kiss on the forehead, trying not to disturb her. ‘Night, petal.’

  ‘Night, Mummy,’ came a whisper, Maisy’s eyelids already closing.

  ‘Time for a quick cuppa before you head out?’ Jill asked, as Rachel came back downstairs to the farmhouse kitchen.

  Rachel glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Nah, I think I’d better get across to the shed. I told Simon I’d let him go at seven.’

  ‘Well, give me a minute and I’ll make up a flask for you. You can’t go out without some food for the night. There are some ham sandwiches ready in the fridge wrapped in foil. Oh, and I’ve also made some sticky toffee pudding … there’s an individual portion I’ve put aside just for you.’

  ‘Oh, great, thanks Mum. I love that stuff.’ It was wonderful to see her mum with a little of her old spark back, slowly coming back round to the things she used to love.

  ‘I know. Got to keep the troops fed, and your energy levels up.’

  ‘Definitely. I’ll not argue with sticky toffee pudding. And, it’s great to see you baking again, Mum.’

  ‘And you’ve got your phone?’ Jill neatly bypassed the comment.

  ‘Yes, of course. And …’ Rachel went to the coat peg in the porch and checked everything else she needed was in her old Barbour waxed-jacket pocket: a pen-knife which had been her dad’s, string, her lambing cord which was sometimes necessary with a difficult birth. ‘Yep, got all my kit.’

  ‘Well, have a good night out there. Hope it stays nice and calm for you.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Jill packed her off with her bundle of food, a large flask of tea and a tin mug in a well-worn rucksack.

  ‘Come on, Moss. You can come too.’ Rachel whistled at the sheepdog who was settled by the Aga, having snuck in with her earlier. He leapt up, eager to help.

  Rachel walked across the yard, headed round the corner of the old stone barn and down a short track to the lambing shed. Dusk was moving in with its long shadows and cooler air. The light was fading softly from its grey-peach glow, diffusing into the indigo of night. She heard the peeping call of an oystercatcher, spotting a pair of them – a dart of bold black and white – overhead, with their distinctive long orange bills.

  She soon reached the lambing shed – a large, steel-framed structure. It was more modern than the other buildings on the farm. The lights were bright in there and the smell as she entered was earthy, of straw and sheep.

  ‘Hey, Simon. All been okay?’

  Their middle-aged farmhand looked up. He had dark hair that was greying at the temples and a rugged but friendly face, lined from years of working outdoors. ‘Aye, grand. Just keep an eye on number 98 over there. She’s got twins but one of her teats isn’t working, so she’s struggling to feed them both for now. You might have to supplement them a bit when you’re feeding the pet lambs.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for the heads up, and how’s Pete? That’s the pet lamb from Friday. Maisy’s named him.’

  ‘Aye, he’s grand. A little fighter, that one.’

  ‘Phew, that’s good, Maisy’ll be distraught if anything happens to him.’

  Life and death were normal processes at the farm, but it was hard at times not to get attached to individual creatures, especially when they were cute little lambs and you were only going on five years old. In fact, it was still pretty hard at twenty-four, Rachel mused. Her dad used to say she was far too soft back when she was a little girl herself, and that she shouldn’t name the animals, but Rachel couldn’t help her caring nature. She’d try her utmost to keep her animals alive and well, even in the most forlorn of cases. Her dad had reminded her that sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.

  ‘Aye, well, we’ll do our best by him,’ said Simon, bringing her back to the here and now.

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Everything else has been pretty steady. A few of the ewes and their lambs have gone back out into the fields from yesterday. They all seem fine.’

  ‘Right, well, I’ll let you get away.’

  ‘Thanks, lass. I must say I’m ready for some kip.’

  ‘Oh, hang on, Mum’s sent over a couple of cupcakes for you.’ Rachel dug a small package from her bag.

  ‘They’ll be grand with a cup of coffee when I get in. Thank Jill, won’t you?’

  ‘Will do and you’re welcome.’

  Simon set off leaving Rachel alone with Moss and the sheep. She switched off the radio that Simon had left playing. In the daytime she liked the chat and the music, but at nightfall it was nice to appreciate the peace, interrupted now and again with the sounds of the baaing of the new lambs and the ewes.

  Rachel toured the shed, making a check of the livestock. The ewes waiting to lamb were penned together in a large section and the majority seemed fine just now. There were mostly Cheviot Sheep on the farm – a hardy breed ideal for the hilly landscape. One Cheviot was showing signs of being close to giving birth. Also, one of the Texels – a larger, stocky breed of sheep that they only had a few of – was circling in a separate pen and seemed restless. Rachel would keep a close eye on those two.

  The new mums and lambs in their individual pens seemed happy as Rachel made her way around the shed. She checked the teats of number 98 – there was still no milk coming on the one side. She’d make up the evening feed soon and help these two new lambs out, as well as bottle-feed the three smaller pet lambs – including the famous Pete – then she’d need to fill the teat trough for the four others that were bigger.

  After doing the feeds and a further check of the sheep, Rachel settled down on a straw bale with a warming mug of tea from her flask. There was a sense of calm in the lambing shed, especially as night began to fall, when you were the only person there. Moss settled himself at her feet. She could mull over her day, think of her plans for the coming weeks, her sketchy ideas for the farm still prominent in her mind, or try to grab a few precious moments of stillness. It had been a lovely sunny day and the evening felt mild. Spring had definitely sprung in Northumberland, which was good news for the lambing – the ewes and lambs suffered in the wet and cold, especially if the bad weather was prolonged. Memories of a recent winter that had lasted far too long came bleakly to mind, and she gave an involuntary shiver. Sometimes, in Rachel’s heart, it felt as cold as ice looking back to that time. Spring, though uplifting, could also be a bittersweet time for Rachel.

  She swiftly shifted her thoughts back to the here and now and pulled out a paperback from her pocket. She settled to read for a while, losing herself in a world of tearooms and tangled love affairs. It was a pleasant escape in a world of troubles.

  In the early hours of the morning, the Cheviot ewe she’d spotted earlier began to give birth; the sac was showing and the lamb presenting. Rachel watched closely. It was straightforward and the mother sheep managed well on her own – the second lamb appearing a short while after the first, and the ewe licking them clean. Both lambs were up on their legs within minutes, and soon began suckling. Nature was an amazing thing. It was still a mini miracle to Rachel every single time – watching new life blossom.

  Rachel was well aware that farmers could sometimes be viewed as hard, but it was more a case of having to be practical. She cared for every single animal at the farm and its livelihood. Yes, the farm was a business, of course, and financially at times a very tough one – the animals were reared to be sold on at the end of the day – but farming was so much more than that. These sheep, their predecessors, and the small herd of cows they kept, had been here with them for many years. She was guardian of the land too. From being a little girl, this farm and its valley had a huge piece of her heart.

  Rachel felt her tummy rumble as she did another tour of the animals. One Texel was still up and down and circling a bit, but nothing seemed imminent, so Rachel decided to have her sandwiches and some more hot tea. It was beginning to get chillier now, she could see her breath misting, but with her thermal lay
ers, double socks, woollen jumper and coat, she stayed warm. She unwrapped the foil package her mum had made for her. The ham was thick and tasty and the fresh wholemeal bread was spread with a touch of honey-grain mustard. Delicious. She gave Moss a crust and sipped her tea. An owl hooted outside, then all was quiet again. The brightness of the shed a beacon in the still of the night.

  An hour or so later, the Texel was beginning to show properly. She seemed agitated, not wanting to lie down for long. Rachel perched on some bales nearer to the Texel’s pen – there were just twelve of them on the farm. Two had already lambed successfully a couple of days ago and were already out in the field. Within another half hour, all the signs were pointing to an imminent birth, but she seemed to be struggling, and a panicked sheep running around with a lamb about to be born was not a good thing. Rachel put her sheep-wrestling technique into action and dived onto the back of the ewe – the Texels were a large, muscular sheep and needed some force to tackle them down to the ground. The ewe could then be turned on her side. It would make it easier for both ewe and lamb.

  Damn it, Rachel was on the sheep’s back but the ewe was still fighting it, thrashing her legs about, so Rachel used an old shepherd’s tip handed down from her dad and grandad and pulled off her coat, placing it over the ewe’s head. The creature did settle somewhat, thank heavens, enough that Rachel could check her rear and see the lamb’s nose and feet there. It could well be a large lamb. The birth might just take a while, but Rachel also knew that you couldn’t afford to leave it too long without intervention.

  Twenty minutes later, and nothing had changed, so Rachel attached her lambing cord and began trying to help the little creature out, heaving back against the prop of a straw bale. This was like the bloody enormous turnip of Maisy’s bedtime stories; nothing was giving, and the ewe was trying to get up again, panting and bleating. Rachel knew that the situation would soon be life-threatening for both sheep and lamb. She needed to call someone right now, someone experienced and stronger than herself. Think, think. Simon lived over fifteen minutes’ drive away. Next door was Tom’s farm – he’d no doubt be busy with his own sheep, but as he had a bigger farm she knew he had two farmhands, so one of them might well be on duty with him. With no time to waste, she pulled her mobile phone from her pocket, still trying to keep the ewe wedged to the ground as she made the call.

  The dialling tone rang four or five times, then – finally – he picked up.

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘Rachel, is that you … is everything okay?’ He sounded rather bleary, he must have been sleeping.

  ‘Not really, I’ve a Texel in trouble. The lamb seems to be stuck.’

  ‘Right.’ Instantly, he sounded alert. ‘I’ll come straight over.’ They both knew the seriousness of the situation.

  Rachel put her phone back in her pocket and stayed with the ewe, trying her best to keep the creature calm and grounded.

  The welcome sounds of a quad rolling up outside came a short while after. Tom arrived with a brief ‘Hi’ and then went straight into action. Rachel stayed at the ewe’s head, whilst Tom got to work below, having to use the cords himself. He was tall and strong, but even then, he had to heave with his back set against the straw bales. At last, after much effort, the lamb came free. It was large, with a mass of mucus around it … and it didn’t move. Tom carefully wiped the mucus away from its mouth and gave its body a firm rub. Still no movement – the poor thing seemed lifeless. He blew into its mouth, once, twice.

  ‘Come on lad, you can do it.’

  And there was a flicker of life, a twitch of a leg initially, then it lifted its damp woolly head, raised itself to a tentative stand and shook itself down – shocked at its arrival into the world. The mother sheep shifted across instinctively to lick it.

  ‘Thank you, Tom.’ Rachel found herself feeling a little emotional. Fatigue and the stress of the situation suddenly crashed in.

  ‘Hey, you’re welcome. Good call getting me out.’ Tom smiled.

  ‘I know. I was struggling. I need some stronger muscles.’ It was frustrating at times not having the physical strength that was required for the more challenging jobs on the farm.

  ‘Hah, now we don’t want you looking like the Hulk or anything,’ Tom joked, his dark brown eyes shining.

  ‘Hi, little chap.’ Rachel moved across to see the new-born lamb, who thankfully seemed fine after his ordeal coming into the world. She’d let him and his mum settle for a few minutes together and then she’d do her checks on the lamb. But just now, they all needed a breather.

  ‘Would you like a tea, Tom? And … I’ve got some of Mum’s sticky toffee pudding here.’

  ‘Now you’re talking. Well, that’s certainly worth getting up at 3 a.m. for.’ He grinned.

  Rachel poured out his drink from the flask, passing over the now communal tin mug. Tom took it, his forearm smeared with muck and blood, but neither were worried about dirt and grime; it was par for the course in the lambing shed.

  They sat together side by side on a straw bale.

  ‘God, I really appreciate you coming over.’ The relief began flooding through Rachel.

  ‘No worries. You know I’m here to help … any time. I’ve always said that.’ He gave her an earnest look.

  ‘Thanks. You’ve been so good to us.’ He was such a great family friend – had helped see them through the toughest of times. In fact, sometimes she worried he’d think they were a bit of a pain – the women from the farm next door. They tried not to pester too much, doing their best to remain self-sufficient at Primrose Farm, but tonight really had been an emergency situation.

  Tom was a little older in his mid-thirties. They had known each other since childhood, though Tom had been a teenager, whizzing up and down the lane on his quad bike, when Rachel was just a small girl. He’d lived on the family farm next door virtually all his life, except when he’d got married and moved away. Then, when his father’s arthritis hit hard several years ago, his parents had moved out to a bungalow in Kirkton, allowing Tom to take over the main farmhouse and the running of the farm with his then-wife, Caitlin. They’d divorced three years ago – pretty acrimoniously, so Rachel heard – and he’d been living there as a single man ever since. They saw a lot of each other on the road and out and about, being neighbours.

  ‘So, how long are you on till?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Ah, Simon’s back at seven. A twelve-hour shift for me. I’ll see Maisy for breakfast time and then I’ll get my head down for a few hours’ sleep once she’s gone off to school.’

  ‘Ah, a few hours of blessed kip.’

  ‘Then, I’m back on again tonight.’

  ‘Relentless, isn’t it – lambing time. Feels never-ending. It’s only around three weeks overall and it seems like a bloody year.’

  ‘We’ll get there. Same every year. Like a horrid hangover, you come out of it threatening never to rear any more sheep, and then by market time you’ve forgotten how bloody awful it is and you’re tricked back into it again.’

  ‘Hah, yeah.’

  Rachel began rummaging in the rucksack for Jill’s pudding and poured herself another mug of tea.

  ‘To the hardy Cheviot Hill farmers,’ she said. She raised her tin cup. ‘Cheers.’

  She passed Tom a portion of the rich, treacly pudding and a plastic spoon – Mum always thought of everything.

  ‘And to sticky toffee pudding.’ He smiled, digging a spoon into the sponge. ‘God, this is delicious. Fuel of the hill farmers.’

  ‘Hah. Absolutely!’

  After chatting for a while, Tom headed back to snatch a few more hours’ sleep. As she’d suspected, he had been in bed when she’d called, trying to make the most of a rare night off from the lambing shed. Rachel felt a little guilty for disturbing his night, as he’d have plenty of his own work to do on his farm today.

  It wasn’t long until dawn began to break with golden morning light filtering in through the gaps in the shed door. On her own once more, Rachel dealt w
ith another birth – a single healthy lamb who came into the world without a fuss – and soon enough, it was time to head back over to the farmhouse and her family.

  Thank goodness it had all worked out in the end for that little Texel. And, looking at the clear sky above her as she walked back across the yard, thank goodness for another warm dry day. The weather this spring was being kind to them. It hadn’t always been so. She walked past the old stone stable building that was no longer used. Remembering that fateful spring morning two years ago, she felt a shudder run through her.

  Chapter 4

  PET LAMB PATROL

  Maisy was already up when Rachel got back to the farmhouse. She and Jill were busy setting out the breakfast things at the large pine kitchen table. Maisy was struggling, carrying two bulky cereal boxes, and dropped them down quickly on the table as her mum appeared.

  ‘Mumm-eee! How’s Pete?’

  ‘He’s good, Maisy. He had a great night and is feeding well.’

  ‘Ooh, can I go feed him?’

  ‘After school, yes. You’ve got to get ready and have your own breakfast now.’

  ‘Oh, not fair.’

  ‘He’s already had his breakfast today, anyhow,’ Rachel added.

  ‘Cup of tea, love?’ Jill asked, switching the kettle back on, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Yes, please, I’m desperate for another brew.’

  ‘Has everything been all right? I thought I heard a vehicle in the early hours?’ Her mum had a frown of concern across her brow.

  ‘Yeah, I had to call out Tom. One of the Texels was in difficulty.’

  ‘Oh, did you manage okay?’ As a farmer’s wife, Jill was well aware of the problems you could experience with lambing. She had often helped out herself in the past, but lately shared her time between the lighter farming duties and helping to look after Maisy.