The Two Farms: A moving family saga set in a Victorian farming community Read online

  The Two Farms

  Mary E. Pearce

  Copyright © 2019 The Estate of Mary E. Pearce

  This edition first published 2019 by Wyndham Books

  (Wyndham Media Ltd)

  27, Old Gloucester Street, London WC1N 3AX

  First published 1985

  www.wyndhambooks.com/mary-e-pearce

  The author has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, organisations and events are a product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organisations and events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Cover artwork images: © KathySG / Standret (Shutterstock)

  Cover design: © Wyndham Media Ltd

  Books by Mary E. Pearce

  The Apple Tree Saga series

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  The Sorrowing Wind

  The Land Endures

  Seedtime and Harvest

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  Polsinney Harbour

  The Two Farms

  The Old House at Railes

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  For

  Margaret Peach

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Also by Mary E. Pearce

  Chapter One

  The valley ran from north to south and the two farms, Godsakes and Peele, lay on opposite sides of it. The Suttons had been tenants at Peele for four generations, having come there in 1746, but the Riddlers had been at Godsakes only since 1821. The little valley was sheltered and warm and the land was as rich and fertile as any land in Gloucestershire, varying from a light sandy loam in the upper part of the valley to a rich red marl in the lower parts. On the same side of the valley as Godsakes, lying in a hollow beside it, was a third farm known as Granger’s, but it was only sixty acres or so and all of it heavy clay.

  Peele, on the valley’s eastern slopes, was sheltered by the round green hill known locally as Luton Camp, while Godsakes, on the western side, had its back to the twin humps of Hogden Hill and Derritt Hill. On both these farms the fields sloped gently down to the flat green valley floor where the Timmy Brook, with many a twist, made its way through the meadows to join the little River Cran outside the hamlet of Abbot’s Lyall.

  In summer the Timmy Brook flowed sedately between its banks but every winter without fail it would flood out over the meadows, turning the valley into a lake, sometimes for two or three weeks at a time. This flooding, although it caused problems, was welcomed by the valley farmers, for it left the meadows so enriched that in spring they gave new grass for the cows three weeks before it grew elsewhere. These meadows were common land and, except at haymaking time, stock from all three farms grazed there together, crossing and re-crossing the brook by a number of little bridges set between the steep banks.

  John Sutton of Peele Farm, with four generations of breeding behind him, was a man of some education and polish. He was also a vigorous, go-ahead man who farmed his land by modern ideas. Isaac Riddler, on the other hand, was a near-illiterate cattle dealer who, after years of scrimping and saving, had taken the tenancy of Godsakes with more courage than capital. His son Morris had succeeded him but farmed in the same haphazard way and was almost always behind with his work. It was inevitable, therefore, that the educated John Sutton, successfully farming three hundred acres, should feel himself superior to the uncouth Morris Riddler, muddling along on his hundred and ten.

  Still, they were good enough neighbours until, in 1842, their landlord, James Goodwin of Allern Hall, finding himself in need of money, decided to sell the three valley farms lying so far from the main estate, and offered the tenants first refusal. The estate agent, Mr Maule, called on John Sutton first; he stated the exact terms of the offer and gave him a week to think it over.

  ‘Then I would be much obliged if you would come and see me and let me know your decision.’

  Sutton did not need to think. He knew his own mind. And the agent had no sooner gone than he was striding his well-kept fields, already seeing them as his own, already busy making plans. The purchase presented no financial problem because only two years before an elderly uncle, formerly a hop merchant, had died leaving Sutton a tidy fortune. In fact the chance of buying Peele so accorded with his ambitions that it seemed like the answer to a half-formed prayer.

  For Riddler, however, it was a different matter. The agent’s news came as a shock.

  ‘Buy Godsakes? How much?’ he asked.

  ‘Mr Goodwin would accept eighteen pounds per acre for the farm itself and fifty shillings per acre for the hill pastures.’

  ‘But that would be over two thousand pounds! I haven’t got it!’ Riddler said.

  ‘It would fetch more than that if it went for auction. It really is an excellent farm, with the common rights on the meadows as well, and I’m sure if you were to try the bank they would be only too happy to advance whatever sum you need.’

  ‘Yes, at an interest of four per cent!’

  ‘Does that mean you do not wish to buy?’

  ‘Dammit! Don’t I get time to think?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ the agent said. ‘You have until a week today. Then I would like you to call on me and let me know your decision.’

  ‘You’re in a hurry, aren’t you? We’re in the middle of haymaking here.’

  But although he wanted time to think, Riddler too had made up his mind, for he saw that the chance was too good to miss. And the risk of borrowing from the bank, although it worried him at first, soon came to seem trivial compared with the richness of the reward. He talked about it to his wife, Agnes.

  ‘Well, for one thing, we don’t want to leave here, do we, when we’ve been here twenty-one years and put so much work into the place? We don’t want to have to start again in a strange new place, do we, eh?’

  He was also thinking of his son, Eddy, at that time nine years old.

  ‘What a wonderful thing it’ll be for him ‒ taking over a farm of his very own! We shall never have such a chance again. Not at that price. It’s too good to miss.’

  ‘How much will you have to borrow?’

  ‘I reckon about six hundred pounds.’

  ‘You’ll see Mr Maule, then?’

  ‘Be sure I shall!’

  But the whole week went by and Riddler,
behindhand as usual, was still at work down in the meadows, anxious to get his hay carted before a threatened break in the weather. Mr Maule would have to wait. There was no great hurry, he told himself. It would do him no harm to stew for a while.

  John Sutton’s purchase of his farm was already under way by this time. An agreement had been signed between the two parties and ten per cent of the purchase price had been deposited with the estate lawyers.

  ‘What about Hessey at Granger’s? Have you had his answer yet?’

  ‘Yes, he’s decided not to buy. Hardly surprising, really, seeing he’s in his seventies and has no sons to come after him.’ The agent met John Sutton’s gaze. ‘Would you be interested?’

  ‘Yes, I would. But that’s a clay farm. Sumpy. Bad. It would need a great deal doing to it.’

  ‘Mr Goodwin would accept fifteen pounds the acre.’

  ‘I am willing to pay that.’

  ‘Excellent. I thought you might.’

  ‘What about Riddler at Godsakes? Will he be buying?’ Sutton asked.

  ‘He hasn’t given his answer yet but it seems very doubtful,’ the agent said. ‘Not much capital there, I think, and he seems nervous of borrowing. I got the impression he wouldn’t buy.’

  ‘Well, if he doesn’t, you know where to come ‒ I’ll have it off you like a shot.’

  ‘That would give you quite a substantial holding,’ the agent said with a little smile.

  ‘It would mean the whole valley was mine,’ Sutton said. ‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot and the idea has taken hold of me. Riddler is a good enough chap but he’s forty years behind the times. A glance over Godsakes shows you that. I could farm it a lot better than he does, and once I’ve got Granger’s put to rights, every acre in that valley would be farmed right to the top of its bent.’

  ‘Well, I’ll give Riddler another few days, then I’ll go over and chivvy him up. But I don’t think you need worry. I would say Godsakes is as good as yours.’

  Sutton nodded as though satisfied but when the agent was seeing him off he brought the subject up again. ‘If Godsakes went to auction, how much do you think it would fetch?’

  ‘I would think, perhaps, three thousand pounds.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Sutton said, ‘certainly if I were there, I would be willing to bid that high.’

  The agent smiled, understanding. ‘I’ll see Riddler as soon as I can.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean, Sutton’s made you a better offer? Tenants had first option, you said, and I’m the tenant here, don’t forget.’

  ‘You seemed doubtful about buying.’

  ‘I wanted time to think, that’s all.’

  ‘Quite so,’ the agent said. ‘But I asked for your answer within a week and it is now eleven days since we talked.’

  ‘I don’t sit around on my arse here, you know! I have got my day’s work to do ‒’

  ‘And I have mine.’

  ‘Yesterday I went into town and had a talk with Mr Forester at the bank. I was getting it all fixed up, finding out how I was placed. I told him the price I’d got to pay and he said there was no problem at all. Two thousand, one hundred and eighty pounds. That’s the price you set on this farm and you’ve got no right to welsh on me.’

  ‘If you had come when I asked you to, the matter would have been settled by now, but I have my employer’s interest to think of, and in view of Mr Sutton’s offer ‒’

  ‘What is his offer?’ Riddler asked. ‘Thirty pieces of silver, is it?’

  ‘Three thousand pounds,’ the agent said.

  ‘And what if I say I’ll pay that? Will you stick to the price this time or will you go running over to Peele to see if Sutton will bid higher still?’

  ‘If you’re prepared to pay three thousand pounds ‒’

  ‘I’ve said so, haven’t I?’ Riddler snarled.

  ‘Then I shall go back to Mr Goodwin and apprise him of the fact. I can’t make any promise, of course, but if I advise him to accept he will most probably do so.’

  ‘Then for God’s sake get on with it,’ Riddler said, ‘and get the lawyers to tie it up.’

  In due course the transaction was made and he became the owner of Godsakes Farm. But to do so he had to borrow fourteen hundred pounds from the bank, more than twice what he’d bargained for, and he never forgave John Sutton for that. The old neighbourliness was gone, and a bitter hatred took its place. He always tried to avoid Sutton now but in the Corn Hall one market day they came face to face by accident. The story of their quarrel was well known and the meeting was watched with interest all round and Riddler, being aware of this, stood four-square in front of Sutton and in a loud voice said:

  ‘I would turn my back on this man ‒ except that he’d stick a knife in it!’

  John Sutton looked at him with a mixture of tolerance and contempt. ‘You don’t seem to understand ‒ farming is a business, like any other, and in business there’s always competition.’

  ‘Well, in this competition you lost, didn’t you?’

  ‘Just for the present, yes, perhaps.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

  ‘Farming is not quite the same as it was. Things are progressing. There’s change in the air. And you will have to farm a sight more efficiently than you have done till now if you are to keep abreast of the times and pay off the mortgage loan you’ve been foolish enough to saddle yourself with.’

  ‘I’ll pay it off, be sure of that!’

  ‘Well, we shall see,’ Sutton said.

  In the summer of 1843 the well in the farmyard at Godsakes ran dry. This had never happened before and Riddler knew who was to blame: John Sutton, taking over Granger’s Farm in the clay hollow just below, had had the land drained to a depth of six feet or more and this had drawn off the underground springs that had fed the well at Godsakes.

  Riddler got on his horse at once and rode into Missenham to seek his solicitor’s advice. But it was a question, Mr Nicholson said, of damnum absque injuria, or ‘damage without wrong’.

  ‘In other words, Mr Riddler, your neighbour has a perfect right to drain his own land if he so wishes, just as you have a right to drain yours, and if it causes damage to some other party, I’m afraid there is no redress for it.’

  A piece of legal information which cost Riddler half a guinea.

  ‘Why is it that the blasted law is always on the side of the scoundrels?’ he asked his wife when he got home.

  The shortage of water was acute. It had to be carried up from the brook. And Riddler had no choice but to sink a deeper well. It was yet another expense he could ill afford; yet another setback to be laid at John Sutton’s door; and in its wake, over the years, one misfortune succeeded another until, as Agnes Riddler said, it seemed that the farm had a curse on it. First it was a bout of quarter-ill, which took three of their best cows; then it was the failure of the corn harvest; and then, in 1844, winter gales tore the roof from one of the older cattle-sheds.

  None of these misfortunes was ever visited on Peele. There, obviously, everything prospered and Sutton, now that he owned the farm, was making improvements everywhere. Hedges had been grubbed up, throwing two or three fields into one; new farm buildings had been built to house the most modern machinery; and more grassland was being ploughed to grow more corn.

  He had also built himself a new house, up on a gentle slope of land just below the beechwoods, set at a slight angle to give a view southwards along the valley. It was a fine square-built house of cream-coloured stucco finish and in front of it lay a gravel drive, a garden laid out with trees and shrubs, and a lawn running down to a small lake. The old farmhouse was occupied by the bailiff now and a row of conifers had been planted to screen it, and the farm buildings, from the windows of the new house.

  Riddler would look across the valley and sneer at John Sutton’s pretensions.

  ‘He fancies himself as some sort of squire,’ he would say to his wife and children, and he called Sutton ‘the Marquis of Peele
’.

  Certainly the new house at Peele was a very handsome residence and drew the attention of anyone travelling along the valley road. The old house at Godsakes, on the other hand, built of locally quarried stone, so merged with its background of fields that had it not been for the pale sandy track climbing the side of the valley towards it, people would scarcely have known it was there.

  ‘What a contrast between the two farms,’ visitors to Peele would say, and even those who knew nothing of farming could see that Godsakes was badly run-down.

  Riddler, having cut down on labour, was now working harder than ever, hoping to make up for it, but often while he ploughed in one field his two men, Lovell and Smith, would be taking it easy in another. Sometimes he would steal up on them and bawl at them over the gate, but it made little impression on them. They would plod all the way across the field just to ask him what he had said. They had no respect for him nowadays and behind his back they called him ‘Mo’. Sometimes, on market days, Riddler was inclined to drink too much and in the morning he would have a thick head.

  ‘Old Mo’s been at it again,’ Bob Lovell would say to Nahum Smith. ‘We shan’t get much sense out of him today.’

  They argued with him constantly over the work that had to be done and he was too easily overborne.

  ‘No good cutting that hay today, master. There’s rain in the offing as sure as fate.’

  After four dry days, Riddler, cursing and swearing at them, gave orders that the hay was to be cut. There followed a week of heavy showers and the hay was more than half spoilt.

  It was the same with everything. The farm-work was always in arrears. Once they were so late sowing their spring corn that it never ripened properly and Riddler fed it green to the stock. One heifer died of it and a number of ewes slinked their lambs. Stock was down to a minimum now and the lack of manure showed itself in crops of sickly looking kale and mangolds no bigger than a woman’s fist. In the autumn of 1844 Riddler found he could not afford to buy seed corn and some of his fields, left unploughed, tumbled down to grass and weeds.