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Authors: Catherine Cookson
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riding in the back. Did you think you were going to travel underneath her?’
‘Eeh, no!’ Joe’s face was one broad grin. ‘I thought we’d go up front.’
‘You did, did you?’ Mr Walsh’s thick eyebrows moved upwards. ‘Well, one of the things we’ve got to learn in this life is that every day brings its disappointments. Up with you!’ His hand came so quickly under Joe’s buttocks and hoisted him so rapidly from the ground into the truck that Joe gasped with surprise as he fell forward among the baggage.
Neither Willie nor Matty needed to be told what to do. They pulled themselves up smartly into the lorry, and Mr Walsh, after clipping the back into place, looked into their wide-eyed, somewhat startled faces, and remarked caustically, ‘If you want to arrive safely, keep your seats.’
Matty’s eyes followed Mr Walsh as he went round the lorry and into the cab. He hadn’t met anyone like him before. He had heard the term ‘Brook no nonsense’, and that apparently described Mr Walsh. Yet he was nothing to look at. He wasn’t as big as his dad, nor as broad. But his body looked hard and knotty. A dig in the ribs from Joe brought his head down to his pal’s level.
‘He’s a funny bloke.’ Joe screwed his face up. ‘Keep your seats, he says, and there’s no seats. Coo! I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him. Did you see the way he hoisted me up? Eeh! I felt like the man on the flying trapeze.’
Soon they were outside the town, and, whereas Mr Walsh’s thirty miles an hour had appeared to them like sixty, they would have sworn his fifty miles an hour was nothing less than a hundred.
They passed places called Elrington, Langley, Staward, Allendale, and Whitfield. After the last place the truck turned off the main road, and now, although the speed lessened, they found the going much more uncomfortable. At one point, when Joe ended up across Matty’s legs and Matty loosened his hold on the side of the lorry to steady him, he found himself in the midst of their shifting baggage. When they sorted themselves they were again laughing, but not so heartily now.
It was as they were going round a bend on a rough road that Matty, looking at Willie, saw his face stretch in amazement. Looking over the back of the truck, his own eyes stretched, for what had made Willie’s face pale was the fact that from the edge of the narrow road the hillside dropped almost sheer down to a valley far below.
The truck was going downhill now, bumping, jolting, its speed increasing as the road became smoother. For a minute they were carried from the bright sunshine into the dimness of a piece of woodland. It surprised them, so that they all looked upwards. It was as if the lorry had run into a shed. The next minute they were out again into the sunshine, and a short while later the lorry stopped with a jerk, and they sat in their contorted positions speechless, looking about them.
‘Well, enjoyed it?’ Mr Walsh was gazing at them from the roadway.
They gave him no answer, and when he let down the back of the truck they descended like drunken men to the ground and stood gazing about them. To the left of them lay fields, all marked out by stone walls. To the right of them, beyond another field, stood a house. It was built of big blocks of stone, which in the bright sunshine appeared white, so white it didn’t look real to the boys. And to the right of it again lay the actual farm, low buildings forming three sides of a square.
‘Well now, there’s your field.’ Mr Walsh pointed to a gate just off the road. ‘Come on, get your stuff in, and I’ll tell you the rules.’ He opened the gate for them and stood aside as they humped the cases, rucksacks and kitbags into the field. Then closing the gate, he walked quickly past them, saying, ‘Bring what you can and follow me.’
Again they did as he bade them, but they couldn’t keep up with him for their feet kept slipping into ruts in the uneven
‘Eeh, no!’ Joe’s face was one broad grin. ‘I thought we’d go up front.’
‘You did, did you?’ Mr Walsh’s thick eyebrows moved upwards. ‘Well, one of the things we’ve got to learn in this life is that every day brings its disappointments. Up with you!’ His hand came so quickly under Joe’s buttocks and hoisted him so rapidly from the ground into the truck that Joe gasped with surprise as he fell forward among the baggage.
Neither Willie nor Matty needed to be told what to do. They pulled themselves up smartly into the lorry, and Mr Walsh, after clipping the back into place, looked into their wide-eyed, somewhat startled faces, and remarked caustically, ‘If you want to arrive safely, keep your seats.’
Matty’s eyes followed Mr Walsh as he went round the lorry and into the cab. He hadn’t met anyone like him before. He had heard the term ‘Brook no nonsense’, and that apparently described Mr Walsh. Yet he was nothing to look at. He wasn’t as big as his dad, nor as broad. But his body looked hard and knotty. A dig in the ribs from Joe brought his head down to his pal’s level.
‘He’s a funny bloke.’ Joe screwed his face up. ‘Keep your seats, he says, and there’s no seats. Coo! I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him. Did you see the way he hoisted me up? Eeh! I felt like the man on the flying trapeze.’
Soon they were outside the town, and, whereas Mr Walsh’s thirty miles an hour had appeared to them like sixty, they would have sworn his fifty miles an hour was nothing less than a hundred.
They passed places called Elrington, Langley, Staward, Allendale, and Whitfield. After the last place the truck turned off the main road, and now, although the speed lessened, they found the going much more uncomfortable. At one point, when Joe ended up across Matty’s legs and Matty loosened his hold on the side of the lorry to steady him, he found himself in the midst of their shifting baggage. When they sorted themselves they were again laughing, but not so heartily now.
It was as they were going round a bend on a rough road that Matty, looking at Willie, saw his face stretch in amazement. Looking over the back of the truck, his own eyes stretched, for what had made Willie’s face pale was the fact that from the edge of the narrow road the hillside dropped almost sheer down to a valley far below.
The truck was going downhill now, bumping, jolting, its speed increasing as the road became smoother. For a minute they were carried from the bright sunshine into the dimness of a piece of woodland. It surprised them, so that they all looked upwards. It was as if the lorry had run into a shed. The next minute they were out again into the sunshine, and a short while later the lorry stopped with a jerk, and they sat in their contorted positions speechless, looking about them.
‘Well, enjoyed it?’ Mr Walsh was gazing at them from the roadway.
They gave him no answer, and when he let down the back of the truck they descended like drunken men to the ground and stood gazing about them. To the left of them lay fields, all marked out by stone walls. To the right of them, beyond another field, stood a house. It was built of big blocks of stone, which in the bright sunshine appeared white, so white it didn’t look real to the boys. And to the right of it again lay the actual farm, low buildings forming three sides of a square.
‘Well now, there’s your field.’ Mr Walsh pointed to a gate just off the road. ‘Come on, get your stuff in, and I’ll tell you the rules.’ He opened the gate for them and stood aside as they humped the cases, rucksacks and kitbags into the field. Then closing the gate, he walked quickly past them, saying, ‘Bring what you can and follow me.’
Again they did as he bade them, but they couldn’t keep up with him for their feet kept slipping into ruts in the uneven
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