guff out of you, only tuck in and get going.”
“Wasn’t going to open my mouth,” Davy proclaimed solemnly.
They had just started on the second wynd when Nora arrived with Tom and Jeremy Nolan.
“Silence please,” Davy announced. “Jack is on the rampage and there is no time for talking.”
“I’ll go along with that,” Tom Nolan agreed smiling. “We must make hay while the sun shines.”
“Oh my God, not you too,” Davy groaned. Turning to Nora he instructed, “Get up on that heap of hay, my girl, and level it out in jig time to see if we can keep this silent order happy.”
“Davy, you’d be thrown out of a silent order the first day,” Nora told him.
They worked steadily all day, and the wynds rose slowly around the field. The day got warmer and perspiration ran down faces and backs. It was with great relief that they saw Martha arriving laden with a large white enamel bucket and an overflowing basket. Davy was the first to collapse into the nearest heap of hay.
“I was never so glad to see tea in my life,” he declared, mopping the sweat off his face with the back of this hand. They all shared his sentiment, but as soon as they had finished eating, Jack had them on the move again.
“Jack, you’re brutal,” Davy told him.
“We’re going to have all this hay up before the cows,” Jack informed him.
It was six o’clock before they put the cap on the last wynd and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. They were a mighty team to work, and the Nolans had made all the difference,as Jack told them.
“Glad to be a help,” Tom told him quietly while Jeremy and Peter were testing their fitness in a race up the field.
“We’ll do the cows, Jack, if you want to finish up here,” Peter called from the gap.
When they were all gone, Jack walked around the field, recapping the wynds and raking down the sides neatly. They were well-made wynds, towering over him and full of golden crackling hay. He loved this time alone at the end of a day in the meadow. The sun had gone low behind the hill sending shadows between the wynds, and it was pleasant to walk around in the cool of the evening. He tied the wynds firmly with binder twine. Now they were safe from any rain and wind that might come. It was a good feeling. In farming you could take no chances with the weather, though he knew by looking at the sky that there would be no break in the weather yet.
He stood at the gap and counted the wynds: fifty in all between the two fields. It was a mighty day’s work! He felt satisfaction in every fibre of his being. As he walked up the fields, there was peace in his heart, because when the river meadows were saved the back was broken in providing winter feed for the cows.
Chapter Six
A T FIRST J ACK thought that he was dreaming. Then suddenly he realised that there was somebody trying to knock down the front door with frantic thumping.
“What in the name of all that’s good and holy is going on?” Jack breathed as he jumped out of bed, stumbled to the door and slapped back the bolt. A half-dressed Davy, gasping from running, nearly fell in on top of him.
“Jack, the bastard is after burning the hay.”
“Who? What?” Jack gasped, his mind not able to grasp what Davy was saying.
“The river meadows are on fire,” Davy shouted at him. Then he was gone, belting out the path in unlaced boots. Jack caught the back of the nearest chair to steady himself. It couldn’t be the wynds that they had made yesterday!
Was that what Davy was shouting about?
Steady on now, Jack
, he told himself,
take this nice and handy and don’t lose your head.
If it is what you think it is, there is no good in rushing, because once dry hay starts to burn nothing can stop it. So get dressed slowly and go down there at your own pace and take it easy.
Kate had warned him about taking it easy. But despite all his instruction to himself, he was dragging on his clothes with a thumping heart. He ran down the boreen, feeling his way
“Wasn’t going to open my mouth,” Davy proclaimed solemnly.
They had just started on the second wynd when Nora arrived with Tom and Jeremy Nolan.
“Silence please,” Davy announced. “Jack is on the rampage and there is no time for talking.”
“I’ll go along with that,” Tom Nolan agreed smiling. “We must make hay while the sun shines.”
“Oh my God, not you too,” Davy groaned. Turning to Nora he instructed, “Get up on that heap of hay, my girl, and level it out in jig time to see if we can keep this silent order happy.”
“Davy, you’d be thrown out of a silent order the first day,” Nora told him.
They worked steadily all day, and the wynds rose slowly around the field. The day got warmer and perspiration ran down faces and backs. It was with great relief that they saw Martha arriving laden with a large white enamel bucket and an overflowing basket. Davy was the first to collapse into the nearest heap of hay.
“I was never so glad to see tea in my life,” he declared, mopping the sweat off his face with the back of this hand. They all shared his sentiment, but as soon as they had finished eating, Jack had them on the move again.
“Jack, you’re brutal,” Davy told him.
“We’re going to have all this hay up before the cows,” Jack informed him.
It was six o’clock before they put the cap on the last wynd and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. They were a mighty team to work, and the Nolans had made all the difference,as Jack told them.
“Glad to be a help,” Tom told him quietly while Jeremy and Peter were testing their fitness in a race up the field.
“We’ll do the cows, Jack, if you want to finish up here,” Peter called from the gap.
When they were all gone, Jack walked around the field, recapping the wynds and raking down the sides neatly. They were well-made wynds, towering over him and full of golden crackling hay. He loved this time alone at the end of a day in the meadow. The sun had gone low behind the hill sending shadows between the wynds, and it was pleasant to walk around in the cool of the evening. He tied the wynds firmly with binder twine. Now they were safe from any rain and wind that might come. It was a good feeling. In farming you could take no chances with the weather, though he knew by looking at the sky that there would be no break in the weather yet.
He stood at the gap and counted the wynds: fifty in all between the two fields. It was a mighty day’s work! He felt satisfaction in every fibre of his being. As he walked up the fields, there was peace in his heart, because when the river meadows were saved the back was broken in providing winter feed for the cows.
Chapter Six
A T FIRST J ACK thought that he was dreaming. Then suddenly he realised that there was somebody trying to knock down the front door with frantic thumping.
“What in the name of all that’s good and holy is going on?” Jack breathed as he jumped out of bed, stumbled to the door and slapped back the bolt. A half-dressed Davy, gasping from running, nearly fell in on top of him.
“Jack, the bastard is after burning the hay.”
“Who? What?” Jack gasped, his mind not able to grasp what Davy was saying.
“The river meadows are on fire,” Davy shouted at him. Then he was gone, belting out the path in unlaced boots. Jack caught the back of the nearest chair to steady himself. It couldn’t be the wynds that they had made yesterday!
Was that what Davy was shouting about?
Steady on now, Jack
, he told himself,
take this nice and handy and don’t lose your head.
If it is what you think it is, there is no good in rushing, because once dry hay starts to burn nothing can stop it. So get dressed slowly and go down there at your own pace and take it easy.
Kate had warned him about taking it easy. But despite all his instruction to himself, he was dragging on his clothes with a thumping heart. He ran down the boreen, feeling his way
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