Dapple

DAPPLE 1930

Edie Fishwick poked hard at the fire, trying to stab some life into the dying embers of a thin bed of coal. A few meagre flames flickered briefly in response, before disappearing up the chimney of the small terraced house. It was one of many seemingly huddled together against the cold of a bleak November night in the small Lancashire town of Dunley.  As Edie sat back in her rocking chair, the orange glow she’d coaxed to life in the grate faded quickly to black. It seemed to sum up how life was going and she sighed audibly as she rocked back and forth, nursing her worries.

   ‘Don’t fret Ma. Tha’ll be back in work soon enough,’ said Joan, her daughter. 

Joan was sixteen and worked in the same textile mill, Corston’s, as her mother Edie, until her father Bert had connived to get Edie laid off a month before. 

    Edie had thrown Bert out of their home three months ago. He’d staggered in after his usual Saturday skinful looking for an argument. Then, the verbal blows he was fond of throwing when drunk, escalated to real ones when he slapped Edie for criticising his drinking. He then thumped Joan for trying to hold him back, splitting her lip with a bright crimson crease, before back-handing her little brother Peter who tried to come to their rescue. The blow knocked the eight year-old off his feet, leaving him tearful and winded. 

    Edie had endured years of strife from Bert. His philandering with a succession of women, his gambling of money they didn’t have, his drinking to excess and his violent temper, all seemed to be her punishment for ignoring her mother’s advice. She’d said Bert was a ’rotten apple from a rotten family’ and a man to be avoided. The words haunted Edie, but like most women in 1930, her marriage vows meant something and, having made her choice, she felt she had to stick to it. So, Edie had accepted Bert’s swinging fists when he was the worse for wear along with so much else with weary resignation. She was damned though if she’d let him start on her children. 

   It had been a very big step. She knew she’d be the talk of Dunley, but Edie’s mind was made up and Bert’s bag was duly packed and placed outside the door the next morning, much to the amusement of Doris Yates from across the street. She shook her head wryly as she saw the scuffed holdall, wondering whether it was Jean Tiplady or Alice Tonks that Edie had found out about, or possibly both. A hungover and shame-faced Bert had dutifully picked up his bag and gone to his single brother Seth’s as he’d always done in the past in these situations. Edie would calm down after a week or two and let him back home in return for a grovelling apology and a bunch of flowers thought Bert. This time though, Edie had ripped up the old script and remained unrelenting. Seeing Joan’s bloodied mouth and Peter’ soundless tears as he lay bruised on the peg rug had made her mind up. For her, Bert was gone for good and she had visited a solicitor in town to start proceedings. Jean Tiplady, one of Bert’s regular flings from Walker Street, would be cited as Edie sought to divorce Bert for adultery, the only way she could legally be rid of him. 

 

   When Bert received notice of the divorce in the post, he’d made a final plea to Edie. He stopped her as she left work, promising to change, this time for good. He even went on bended knee and took off his cap, clutching it in front of him with both hands, as if in prayer. But Edie simply looked through him, then walked round him and it was suddenly and painfully clear to Bert that his marriage was over. He had no home and would never live down being divorced for adultery. His conciliatory tone then gave way to a snarling sense of vengeance and he spat threats after Edie’s disappearing figure. 

   While much of Bert’s invective was angry noise, he knew exactly how to make Edie pay. His brother Seth was Edie’s Overseer at Corston’s Mill. Seth was a corpulent, scarlet-faced bully who would delight in causing Edie upset if he could. In the past, she’d avoided his wandering hands and malicious tongue because she was married to Bert. She could handle that if it came her way anyway, but the blow Seth had delivered really did knock her down. 

   Edie was laid off on Seth’s recommendation. Orders at the mill had been falling since the Wall Street Crash the previous year and the need to reduce the workforce gave Seth a useful opportunity to avenge his angry brother. Seth’s Manager questioned Edie’s lay-off because she was an experienced and hard-working machinist. So Seth had took him aside and said her work had dropped off lately. Then, leaning close and whispering as if it was too scandalous to say aloud, he suspected she had a drink problem. Complete lies, but they’d done their job with Mr Sykes, a Methodist teetotaller. Edie was promptly out. Sykes had simply told her and another machinist who had a time-keeping problem that people sadly had to go because of the fall in orders. Edie protested as to why it was her and was met with a stony stare and the hard, clipped message, ‘It has to be somebody.’ 

   ‘Aye,’ she’d replied, ‘but not the likes of you.’

   Edie was without work at a time of global depression that hit Dunley as hard as anywhere. Jobs were scarce and for many, Edie included, money even scarcer with the dole a lot less than her wages had been.

   Thankfully, Edie had ‘a bit put by’ from when doing a long period of overtime in the Summer. She’d used four of the five pounds, totalling over a month’s wages, with the solicitor; but as it was Peter’s birthday, she wanted to do something for him. Besides, a good meal and a break from scrag end of lamb or no meat at all would give them all a lift. So, Edie got up from the chair and pulled out a tobacco tin from the cupboard next to the hearth. She counted out seven shillings and gave them to Joan who took it carefully, weighing it in her hand as if it was gold.

   ‘After yer shift tomorrow, I want you to go to Hill’s Butchers and get us a big joint o’ beef, about a pound and a half in weight.’

   Joan’s eyes widened at what was an extravagance in the circumstances. They hadn’t had a beef joint since the Summer fete when father was still at home. 

   ‘We’ve taters in, but I also want carrots and a cabbage from Tatton’s an’ all. Then call at t’bakers on Glebe Street on yer way back and get us a cream bun each.  I reckon it’ll come to about six shillings, so you’ve a bit left if it’s extra. And keep that money safe mind at work!’

Joan nodded dutifully and slipped the money into her purse. 

 

The following day dawned bright above the tight terraced streets, though the merging smoke plumes from homes and factories rubbed a nasty grey smudge on the pale blue sky. By the end of Joan’s nine-hour shift, the sun was dropping into the smoky haze settling on the town as she began a tired trudge over the cobbles towards the high street. 

   She was checking that her purse was safe in the inside of her coat when she saw Harry Lomax approaching with a black and white greyhound trotting beside him. Harry had been at school with Joan where she’d had a soft spot for him despite his reputation for mischief. Since then, he’d grown tall and his work on the family small holding had filled him out into a strong young man whose dark wavy hair, cool blue eyes and ready smile also gave him an advantage where the opposite sex was concerned. Harry was well known for poaching with his dad Jim and for racing greyhounds at Belle Vue in Manchester. Joan smiled at Harry as he approached.

   ‘How do Joan?’ asked Harry, grinning easily as he spoke.

   ‘I’m alright ‘arry. How’re you doing?’

   ‘Grand!’

   Joan bent forward and stroked the head of the greyhound, it’s tail wagging so hard its body shimmied happily in unison too. It was a striking animal; a shining black saddle with white legs spotted black, a white blaze down it’s sleek black head and a white tip to its frantically wagging tail. The greyhound’s amber eyes locked on to Joan as she began to rub its throat. They were affectionate and trusting and Joan melted inside. Harry sensed her instant attraction.

   ‘She’s called Dapple, cos of t’black dappled legs,’ offered Harry cheerily.

   ‘She’s a beauty ‘arry. D’ya race her?’ 

   ‘Not long stopped because she’s five now. She were a real good’un though. Won many a race. She’s a good rabbiter too.’

   Harry enthused about Dapple as Joan went on her haunches so she was eye to eye with her, petting and cooing as the dog leaned forward, enjoying the fuss. Harry smiled as Joan cradled Dapple’s head, then his face clouded.

   ‘Mind you, dad wants rid of ‘er. We’ve a new litter off our top bitch and we’ve only sold three. That means we’ve nine dogs wit’ puppies and dad sez it’s t’many to feed.’

   ‘I’d love ‘er ‘arry.’

   The words were out of Joan’s mouth before she had weighed them as was often the case. She felt a flush of nerves once they were spoken, but as she stroked Dapple’s head, they were quickly gone and at that moment, all she wanted was Dapple.

   ‘Really?’ asked Harry, surprised.

   ‘I’d love ’er,’ repeated Joan, ’I don’t know owt about greyhounds, but I can learn.’

   ‘Well if you want ‘er, she’s for sale. Dad were offering ‘er in t’Blue Bell t’other night for just ten shilling. Can you manage ten shilling?’

  It was then Joan stopped fussing Dapple and paused. Instantly besotted as she was, she couldn’t forget that money was tight. She could almost see her mother Edie pacing with worry and wringing her hands at the expense of a big dog with only Joan’s money coming in and a bit of dole. But then, looking back into Dapple’s eyes, she just knew she had to find a way to make it work. 

   ‘Can I gi’yer five shilling now and the rest next week once I’m paid?’ offered Joan.

   Harry furrowed his brow as he thought, then nodded and smiled.

   ‘Aye. dad’ll tek that I reckon.’

   ‘Thanks ‘arry. I will pay t’rest next week I promise,’ gushed Joan as she throat-rubbed Dapple vigorously in excitement. Then she stood and pecked in her purse for the five shillings. There were eleven silvery shillings nestling in the lining, seven from her mother and four of Joan’s own money. She knew she needed to use a shilling of her mother’s; money that was hard to come by; but then she looked again at Dapple gazing up at her and quickly dropped the five coins into Harry’s hand.

   ‘I’ll be sad to see ‘er go. She’s a grand dog, but better you tek ‘er than someone I don’t know,’ said Harry as he ruffled Dapple’s neck. He then smiled ruefully at her, before passing the lead to Joan adding ‘ I’ll need to tek the collar and lead back next week, or you can allus give us a shilling for ‘em.’

   Joan nodded. ‘Aye, that’ll be fine,’ without thinking too hard; just welcoming the warm feel of the leather lead in her hand. It seemed to signal that Dapple was hers.

   ‘It’s George Street, where you live in’t it?’

   ‘Number 30,’ confirmed Joan, as she brought Dapple towards her and to her side with a gentle tug and pat to the head.

   Harry bent and gave Dapple a final stroke. ‘See ya next week Joan.’ 

   ‘Yes, thanks for Dapple ‘arry. See ya soon.’

   Joan walked away and Dapple trotted next to her after just one backward glance towards Harry. He smiled ruefully as she did so, sorry to see the beautiful greyhound go, though pleased he’d sold her to Joan. Better that, thought Harry, than his dad flogging her to some faceless drinker in the pub.  Harry also liked the idea of seeing Joan again. With her long blonde hair and clear white skin, she was, to use his mother’s phrase ‘a real catch’. Roll on next week thought Harry as he felt the five shillings in his pocket that he could pass proudly on to his dad. It’d also be good to see how Dapple was getting on.

    Joan did the rounds of the shops, hoping the remaining six shillings would cover it all as Edie had said. The beef was four shillings and sixpence, the veg nine-pence and thankfully, the cream buns two pence–ha’penny each. This left Joan with a penny and a ha’penny left as she turned for home with a bag in one hand and Dapple’s lead in the other. 

   The thought of presenting Dapple to her mother given her worries about money seemed to weigh heavier on Joan with each step towards George Street. While Joan feared a scene was inevitable, she also knew she could afford to pay the five shillings next week to Harry, plus the shilling for the collar and lead. It was a quarter of a week’s wages for Joan and meant she would have only two shillings left after she’d given the rest to Edie for her keep, but she didn’t mind if it meant she had Dapple. 

    Dapple had walked along happily with Joan, though half raised her ears and put her head on one side quizzically when they stopped at the front door and Joan took out her key. As Joan twisted it in the lock, she took a deep breath, looked down at Dapple as if drawing further resolve from her, then stepped into the hall. The first thing Joan heard was a cry of delight from Peter.

   ‘She’s friendly little P. Come’n stroke ‘er, but steady, she might be nervous.’

   Peter didn’t hesitate and after approaching cautiously he was soon fearlessly eye level with Dapple, stroking her neck. Though her surroundings were new, Dapple seemed to sense she was safe and stayed calm, though watchful. 

    Then Edie bustled through to the hall from the back room at the sound of Joan’s voice. She looked down at Dapple and Peter, then up at Joan, slack jawed with initial surprise, before tightening her mouth and finding her voice.

   ‘Who’s dog’s that?’

   ‘Mine now,’ announced Joan with jaw jutting defiance. ‘I bought ‘er off ‘arry Lomax. Her name’s Dapple.’

   ‘Bought it! How much for?’ 

   ‘Five shillings down payment; then another five next week.’

   ‘Ten bloody shillings!’ shouted Edie, her eyes pained and face creased with worry. She was only thirty-seven, but had the greying hair and lines of a fifty year-old etched into her skin by hard work and a hard-hearted husband. 

   Dapple flinched momentarily at Edie’s shrill voice but steadied under Joan’s and Peter’s hands.

   ‘What were y’thinking Joan? How can we feed a big dog when we’re struggling already?’

   ‘I’ll feed her wi’ what I don’t tip in to you,’ offered Joan; a little less assertive this time.

   Then, as Dapple turned to sniff the bag, Edie’s thoughts went back to the food. 

   ‘Tha’d better o’got what I sent you for Joan Fishwick,’ challenged Edie, hands on hips.

   ‘Aye, I got everything you asked,’ said Joan, looking down, ‘but I used nearly a shilling of what was left to make up the five shillings for Dapple,’ then hurriedly added, ‘I’ll pay it back next week I promise.’ 

   Joan feared Edie marching towards her and giving her a smack, but her mother just slumped against the door frame as if she’d been knocked sideways by an unseen hand. Peter looked beseechingly at Edie as he knelt beside Dapple.

   ‘Please Ma. She’s a smasher. Can we keep ‘er?’

   There was a pause before Edie shook her head slowly and sadly. 

   ‘We just can’t afford her Little P,’ she said, walking wearily down the hall, then holding her hand out to Joan for the lead. 

   Joan wrestled with herself. She’d come in determined to keep Dapple but the anguish in Edie’s face had taken the fight out of her. She knew they were struggling for money and that she’d been impulsive. Two hours ago, she’d never even seen Dapple. Now she wanted to base their lives around her. Joan screwed her eyes up as they leaked tears while Edie gently took the lead from her. She was crying as much out of frustration at their lot as for not keeping Dapple. It wasn’t fair. They couldn’t even afford to keep a dog.

   Edie put her hand on Joan’s arm, then on Peter’s head who had also begun to sob.

   ‘I’m sorry,’ said Edie, tender in tone, ‘she looks a grand dog, but we just can’t afford ‘er. I’ll tek her back to the Lomax’s. I know Jim of old. I’ll get the five shillings back.’

   ‘Joan love, can you get the beef on while I’m gone? Peter, you can set the table love, and use the best table-cloth mind.’

    Dapple obediently followed Edie to the back door and out into the yard. As a former racer, she was used to being handled by strange hands and took change in her stride, though looked round warily as they came out into open space through the rickety rear gate that grated noisily on the flagstones. George Street was the last run of houses before open fields. A cinder track ran along the back yards and joined with the road leading out of town and up towards the Lomax’s small holding. The light was fading fast and Edie pulled the collar of her coat up against the wind as she strode out with Dapple along the slightly inclined track, while sooty flecks from the towns’ chimneys swirled around them like black mistle. She thought it’d take about ten minutes, just enough time to get to the cottage, then back on to the main road where there were streetlights, before it was fully dark. That was assuming that Jim took the dog back without any drama. 

   Her mind was moving as fast as her legs; guilt at taking the dog away from Joan and Peter, on his birthday too, worry over money, the divorce, the future. Then Edie was jolted from her thoughts as Dapple’s lead whipped through her hands. Before she could re-grasp it, Dapple had sprinted away into the field with the lead carving a wet furrow in the dewy grass behind her. Edie was soon struggling to see her clearly in the enveloping murk of dusk, though she occasionally spotted her white legs as they thrashed the earth in fast jinking patterns. Then Dapple stopped suddenly, raising something in her mouth, before trotting back towards Edie. As she came close, Edie could now see the cause of Dapple’s hectic running. She carried a large rabbit in her mouth. 

    Dapple brought the dead rabbit to Edie with a wagging tail, dropping it at her feet. Edie quickly snatched up the lead, wrapping it round her hand for good measure. 

   ‘Good lass,’ said Edie, a little awkwardly. 

   She wasn’t frightened of dogs but didn’t really know much about them. What she did know though, was that Dapple had clearly been trained to hunt, bring prey back and even to drop it.  

   ‘Now there’s a thought,’ said Edie to herself as she picked up the rabbit and led Dapple back towards the house.

Edie left Dapple in the yard as she went in the back door with the rabbit. It was now Joan’s turn to be slack jawed with surprise as Edie brandished the animal in front of her with a grin. ‘You couldn’t ‘ave got t’ the Lomax’s in that time surely. Where’s Dapple?’ asked Joan.

   ‘Well, don’t just stand there gawping our Joan, fetch me t’big knife. This’ll do nicely for tea tomorrow and there’ll even be some for Dapple!’ said Edie with a smile.

   Joan was open mouthed with confusion as she passed the knife to her mother and heard scratching and a whine at the back door. Then her puzzled expression changed into wide eyed joy as she realised what must have happened. She virtually sprinted for the door to let Dapple in who reared up like a little horse once it was opened, seemingly as eager to see Joan and Peter as they were to see her. After the cries of delight had subsided and Dapple had sniffed the hearth rug, circled and settled on it, Joan turned to her mother. She almost feared asking what she hoped would happen.

   ‘Can we really keep her Ma?’

   ‘Well, we’ll give ‘er a try. If she can catch rabbits and earn ‘er keep she can stay, but we can’t be paying out to keep ‘er,’ warned Edie. 

   Joan smiled, simply assuming Dapple would do earn her keep and kneeled next to her, stroking her once again.

   ‘’ow did she end up catching a rabbit?’

   ‘She pulled t’lead off me, then just set off on’t back field. It were lucky t’lead didn’t snag on owt. Tha’ll ‘ave to watch ‘er and keep a tight grip in future tha knows,’ lectured Edie.

   Joan nodded as she stroked Dapple’s back. ‘I’ll tek her tomorrow again to see if we can get another.’

   ‘But first Joan, we’ve our Peter’s birthday meal to do!’

   Peter smiled. His present had been six lead soldiers in scarlet tunics that Edie had kindly been given by a neighbour. A hand-me-down from her own son, now working. Peter had paraded them on the carpet earlier but now they simply stood guard by the hearth as he joined Joan in fussing Dapple. She seemed like the real gift.

    Dapple settled quickly with the Fishwick’s. She enjoyed Joan and Peter’s attention and, apart from creating a puddle on the kitchen floor the first night that was met with a loud shout from Edie, she was good in the house. She was also, unusually for a greyhound, watchful for strangers and often gave a low growl in response to vocal passers-by on the street. Edie liked the security of Dapple’s sentinel responses and was equally delighted when Joan had appeared at the gate with another rabbit on the second evening. For the next four nights however, Dapple didn’t catch any more. Joan had said she’d not seen any and thought the rabbits might have got wise to Dapple. Thankfully, Edie hadn’t mentioned Dapple having to earn her keep again, though Joan fretted that if she didn’t start catching a few soon, Edie would raise the conditions under which Dapple was staying.

 

Seth Fishwick swayed along Friar Street and belched loudly into the dark as he threw a glowing dog end into the gutter where it drowned in a puddle. He was drunk, but the attempt to drown his sorrows at The Black Dog had failed. If anything, the drink had merely dampened his mood further. Seth knew he’d blown it. Trying it on with the new girls had been one of the perks of being an Overseer at Corston’s, but he should have done his homework on that last one. Should’ve found out a bit about her first. It was too late now though he lamented, as he reached his front door and fished for the key in his trousers, causing him to stagger momentarily. He’d never have touched her if he’d known she was a God-Botherer like Sykes. They even went to the same bloody chapel!  Seth thought Sykes had it in for him after a group of the machinists complained about Edie being laid off. She was popular and they’d been indignant when Sykes said she’d been slacking off and was a drinker. After that, Sykes had called Seth in. He challenged him on his accusations of Edie, saying the other workers claimed it was rubbish and it was Seth’s brother who was the drinker. Despite Seth’s denials, Sykes’ glassy stare showed he wasn’t convinced and Seth needed to watch his step. Next thing, Seth overstepped the mark with the new girl who Sykes knew and was on his way. ‘Rationalising costs’ was Sykes’ phrase as Barton, the other Overseer took on both floors of machinists and Seth was ‘reluctantly being released’.

   ‘Shoulda laid ’im out when he laid me off,’ said Seth with a sneer, pleased with his word play.  He had always enjoyed a good one-liner and had regularly used them as weapons at work to poke at the machinists. He finally wrestled the key free of his pocket and pointed it woozily in the direction of the lock with a concentrated frown on his face. As the key wavered, Seth smiled tightly to himself remembering he’d got new work straight away. But Assistant Gamekeeper on the Allerton Estate paid half what he’d been on at Corston’s and it was mainly nights, cold ones at the moment too, he thought as his beery breath steamed in the air. Then his key stabbed into the lock and he half fell into his house, a dirty, untidy back to back rental. Back on tomorrow evening, thought Seth bitterly as he kicked his shoes off before shambling along the dark hallway and into the front parlour where he landed heavily on the threadbare settee. I’ve done a week and I haven’t even caught anyone yet, he mused. He’d been hired because poaching on the estate had increased and they wanted round the clock patrols which necessitated a third Assistant Gamekeeper. Yet all Seth’d seemed to do so far was blunder about in the dark. At least that’s what French the Head Gamekeeper had said he’d done. 

   ‘I’ll get the thieving bastards,’ sighed Seth tiredly to himself as his eyes closed, his head lolled back and he struck up a loud, grating snore.

Early the next evening Harry Lomax appeared at Joan’s house to collect the remaining five shillings for Dapple. When he stepped into the hall, Dapple was clearly happy to see him, as Harry was to see her and he ruffled her neck as she leapt up to greet him, tail beating a tattoo of affection against the wall. 

   ‘She’s doing alright by the look of ‘er,’ said Harry, grinning.

   ‘Oh she’s grand,’ said Joan guiding Dapple down from Harry and calming her with a stroke.   

   ‘Mind you, she caught a few rabbits first off on t’back field then ‘asn’t ‘ad a sniff since.’

   ‘They’re not daft aren't rabbits Joan,’ said Harry knowingly, ‘they’ll sense she’s there now and stay near t’field’s edge. What you need to do is to tek her somewhere new. I’ll tell you what, why not come wi’ me tomorrow? I know a few good spots.’ 

   ‘You’re on,’ said Joan, eager to see Harry as well as hoping Dapple could start earning her keep.

   Harry nodded, equally pleased.

   ‘I’ll tek Pirate the lurcher and you leave Dapple ‘ere for this first one. You can then see ‘ow it’s done.’

   Joan nodded back with a smile; ‘first one,’ he’d said. That meant there could be more than one meeting with Harry and she liked the sound of that.

 

The light was starting to fade, and a sharp breeze stirred the branches of an oak into a creaking moan as Harry and Joan approached the perimeter wall of the Allerton Estate. Harry scanned right and left before bending down and cupping his hands. 

   ‘Are you sure this’ll be alright?’ whispered Joan anxiously as she put her foot into Harry’s hand-formed stirrup. He simply grinned and nodded before lifting her upwards with practised ease next to the red brick wall turning brown in the twilight. With a grunt Joan heaved herself on to it, slightly grazing one of her hands before dropping down the seven-foot drop with a dull thump on to the grassy earth. Harry landed next to her almost immediately and offered a hand to help her upright, plus another cheeky grin as he stood too and looked warily around the woodland they’d dropped into. It was a dense mix of beech and maple trunks, their branches bare and sighing in the cool wind. Both were in dark coats and scarves as Harry had instructed which had amused Joan because the only coat she had was black and her only scarf, navy blue. Harry also wore a dark flat cap and when he saw Joan, he said she’d be best wearing the scarf like a headscarf to hide her blond hair.

    ‘Pirate’ll find ’is way through that tall ‘edge we passed earlier. If we walk left, ‘e’ll find us. Quiet mind,’ said Harry as he moved watchfully along the wall’s perimeter. Joan followed, nervously looking round and feeling a knot of tension in her stomach. After all, she knew they were trespassing and that Lord Allerton had gamekeepers. Ma’ll kill me if we’re caught. What the hell am I doin’ skulking about with a scarf round me ‘ead’ Joan mused, then suddenly snapped back into the moment as Harry stopped, dropped on to his haunches and signalled for her to do the same. She was suddenly aware she was holding her breath as she strained to hear and see in the half-light. Seemingly out of nowhere, a dog appeared from behind a tree trunk and by the brief wag of its tail, Joan knew it was Pirate and she breathed easily again. Pirate dropped on to his belly next to Harry, looking from the rear very like Dapple because of his black back and white neck. But he also had a white head apart from a black patch round his left eye which gave him his name. He was a collie-greyhound cross, making him a lurcher. Harry had said that Pirate was the cleverest dog he’d ever had. He’d even trained him to snake through a tall hedge and take any prey he caught to a particular spot outside the estate for Harry to pick up once he was on the safe side of the boundary, if need be. 

   ‘Just follow and watch,’ whispered Harry, as they moved slowly to the edge of the treeline that gave way to a wide expanse of grass sloping away to their right that was darkening as night closed in. Harry shielded behind a large maple trunk as he fed Pirate towards the dewy grass. The big lurcher stood, head erect, ears slightly raised in anticipation and eyes staring intently ahead. He seemed to be still for a long time and Joan was about to speak when suddenly, Pirate burst forward into a run, flicking turf and mud behind him as his paws clawed the earth with frantic, powerful strides. He ran low and fast before Harry and Joan lost sight of him in the growing gloom. A few seconds later, he re-appeared out of the darkening field, slower now, moving at a trot towards them, his shape changed by the rabbit lolling in his mouth.

    Seth grunted with exertion as he walked up the slight incline and his dragging tread squelched heavily on the wet grass. It was only just after five o’clock, but almost fully dark and growing colder by the minute. French had sent him to the Southern end of the estate with the tree line and walled perimeter about fifty yards to his left across the other side of the field. He was only half an hour into his eight-hour shift and, while he really wanted to catch someone and ram French’s taunting words firmly down his throat, he was bored and fed up already. But then, just as he turned up the collar of his coat against the scouring breeze, he saw a flash of white. A dog, he was sure, trotting towards the treeline.  Seth set off striding purposefully towards it, now picking his feet up with alacrity.

   ‘Easy work when you now ‘ow eh Joan,’ said Harry as Pirate reached them, proudly showing off the rabbit in his mouth, then dutifully dropping it in front of Harry. Joan leaned forward from behind the tree to get a better look just as Pirate was starkly illuminated in a torch beam and a harsh voice cut the night.

   ‘Stay where you are with that bloody dog or I’ll shoot!’ shouted Seth, barely twenty yards away.

   ‘Hide,’ hissed Harry, pushing Pirate away from him as Joan’s stomach lurched and she gripped the tree as if it could protect her. She was then grabbed by the shoulder and forced along by Harry, moving deeper into the trees. After a few paces, he moved abruptly to his left, ran again briefly, then threw himself down, pulling Joan with him. Her face hit musty wet earth and leaves and she lay frozen with fear, hoping desperately that the torch and then a bullet wouldn’t find them. 

    Thankfully for Joan and Harry, there was no bullet. Seth’s threat to shoot was an empty one. He hadn’t yet been entrusted with a gun and was only armed with a stick and a torch. As Joan and Harry lay still and covered by the blanket of night, Seth thought he saw another glimpse of the dog in his flailing beam. He then walked further away from them along the edge of the trees, playing his torch in among them, hoping to see the two figures again. He hadn’t really made out their features because they’d moved out of sight so quickly, but he was sure by their build it was a man and a woman. He’d also caught a glimpse of blonde strands of hair escaping from what looked like a headscarf on the smaller one. As Seth stalked about in the growing gloom it came to him, bloody Joan Fishwick; our Bert’s lass! Hadn’t they just got a greyhound from the Lomax’s, a black and white one? He was suddenly sure it was Joan. So, thinking that he could sort this out without chasing about in the trees, he started on back to French’s office.

    Harry could no longer hear Seth’s heavy tread and risked looking up in the direction they’d run from. He smiled to himself as he saw the light from the torch moving further away over the field. 

   ‘E’s gone Joan; come on.’

   Joan let out a long breath as she raised herself cautiously, brushing leaves from her clothes and peaty soil from her cheek.

   ‘Remind me ‘arry Lomax never to do this again.’

   ‘All part o’ t’fun,’ joked Harry, though the slight tremor in his voice showed there was more bravado than conviction in what he said.

   Harry quickly orientated himself, even though it was now dark and within seconds he found the wall, launching Joan upwards before pulling himself over.

   ‘Pirate’ll o’ gone to the bridge near’t th’edge. He knows that ‘Hide’s’ the command for that.’

   Harry briefly flashed his torch to check where he was, then took Joan’s hand to guide her, before moving off slowly to his left. Joan tingled with adrenalin and while she was angry with Harry for putting her in a dangerous position, she was also thrilled at the touch of his hand in hers.

   After a few minutes following the estate wall under a brightly emerging moon, they reached the small hump-backed bridge that crossed the river. Pirate ran forward wagging his tail and still carrying his rabbit. Harry ruffled his neck and took it while giving him some bacon scraps from a small bag. The rabbit was deposited into a small brown sack with a long drawstring top. He passed it to Joan.

   ‘Put the rabbit under the back of your coat and tie’t string round your waist.’ 

   Joan did so quickly without question, though didn’t like the feel of a warm, dead animal against her backside. ‘Pull your cardigan over’t string at t’front, then do your coat up, just in case you’re stopped.’

   Joan needed no prompting. 

   ‘I’ll see thi, then Joan. Enjoy the rabbit!’ said Harry as she turned in the direction of home.

 

   ‘Aye,’ was all Joan could offer, keen to be on her way. Her instinct was to run, but she knew it would look suspicious and she’d struggle with the rabbit bouncing about under her coat too. So she walked briskly, the moonlight giving enough visibility to follow the path towards the glow from the terraced streets of Dunley, half a mile below the estate. Then it darkened suddenly, making it hard to see as clouds screened the moon and rain began to fall. Yet Joan kept up a good pace, though stumbling on occasion as she veered off the path in the dark and her feet scuffed the verge. As she neared George Street, she moved to the back of the terrace, thinking there was less chance of being seen if she went through the back yard. 

    Seth Fishwick was gasping for breath again. The cold air stung his throat and the rain mingled with the sweat of exertion on his round, ruddy face. He’d moved as fast as he could once French had heard him out, allowing him to leave the estate to chase Joan down. By his own admission, Seth was built for comfort and not for speed, though as he bustled towards the top of George Street, he caught a glimpse of the back of someone in a dark coat walking quickly towards the backs of the houses. They were of slight build and clearly in a hurry so Seth reached an obvious conclusion - Joan Fishwick, though he couldn’t see a dog. He’d surprise her by going to the front door. Once there, Seth paused outside, listening while he got his breath back and wiped the rain from his face with a handkerchief. There was no light in the front parlour but that wasn’t unusual, so he listened as his breathing steadied, though heard nothing. They must all be in the back, thought Seth, so I’ll get ‘em to the front sharpish.

   Edie was at the sink as she heard the heavy knocking at the front door and Dapple jumped to her feet with a deep bass growl.

   ‘Eh up, bailiffs must be ‘ere,’ Edie joked as she went to the door with Dapple at her side, who stalked forward warily. As she opened it, Seth loomed loud in her face, dripping water from his coat and menace from his mouth.

   ‘I want to see your Joan!’ he shouted, ‘she’s been poaching on t’estate just now.’ 

   ‘Tha what Seth?’ laughed Edie, ‘I know you’ve allus talked rubbish, but that’s a good ‘un. Joan’s bin in all night.’

   ‘Don’t tek me for a mug Edie Fishwick! I’ve just seen ‘er! She were on t‘estate wi’ a fella  catching rabbits,’ said Seth, jabbing his point home with an accusing finger.

   ‘And what fella were this?’ Edie asked as she folded her arms and stared back. He wasn’t her overseer now.

   ‘I, I, I don’t know,’ stammered Seth, ‘it were dark and ‘e moved fast.’

   ‘So you didn’t recognise this fella in’t dark, but you did recognise our Joan?’ asked Edie.

   ‘I saw ‘er blond ‘air, sticking out under a scarf or summat.’

   ‘So Joan’s the only woman wi’ blond ‘air in the whole o’ Dunley? Eh up, it could’a bin me Seth, or am I a bit too grey at th’edges?’ mocked Edie.

   ‘It were Joan, I know it!’ An it were your dog wi’ ‘er. I’m sure t’Police’ll get to the bottom of it,’ threatened Seth.

    Dapple had stood quietly, though intently next to Edie as she held her collar, but as Seth looked down accusingly at the dog, she gave a deep growl and raised her top lip, revealing long sharp fangs.

   Seth shifted backwards slightly at the sight as Edie went on the offensive.

   ‘This dog’s bin on t’estate tonight Seth? This dog that’s dry as a bloody bone, when it’s chucking it down wi’ rain? Not a spot o’ dirt on ‘er and she’s bin runnin’ all ower th’estate?’ said Edie shrilly.

   Seth frowned in thought as he looked at Dapple who’s eyes were still locked on him and he knew Edie was right about the dog being clean and dry. 

   ‘Well, where’s your Joan then?’ he countered, ‘is she dry n’all? Let’s see ‘er.’

   Joan had been listening at the kitchen door and as if on cue in a stage drama, appeared in the hall with her head wrapped in a towel.

   ‘I’m dry Seth, but me ‘ead isn’t because I’ve bin washin’ me ‘air. I ‘ave to do it regular because of all t’cotton fibres at Corston’s,’ challenged Joan. 

   Then Edie sparked up again.

   ‘Why don’t you fetch t’Police then Seth? I can just see ‘em tekin our Joan in for questioning because she’s washed ‘er ‘air on a wet night.’ mocked Edie.

   Seth pursed his mouth in frustration. ‘I know it were you Joan and I’ll catch you! Just wait and see!’ spat Seth as rain dripped from his cap. He turned, shoulders slumped and stalked away into the cold, wet night.

    Later that night, Joan sat on the hearth rug, cradling Dapple’s head in her lap as she reflected on the evening’s events. Edie had been furious with her for bringing Seth to their door and nearly landing in hot water on the Allerton estate. She’d then accused Joan of taking silly risks just so she could be with Harry Lomax. Joan had protested saying she wanted to catch some rabbits and learn what to do, so Dapple could do the same; but she knew Edie was right, she’d gone along because Harry had asked her. And the daft thing was, though she’d promised Edie she wouldn’t go on the estate again, she suspected that if Harry asked, she would go, even if she’d been frightened half to death and knew they’d been lucky to get away.

    Meanwhile, Seth stood miserably under a tree to avoid the worst of the rain, though it dripped from the bare branches, speckling his soaking coat and cap. He had stewed all night on his failure to catch the trespassers and was still sure it had been Joan on the estate. Then he remembered that Dapple had been one of Jim Lomax’s dogs that he’d been trying to sell in the pub, he quickly put two and two together. The Lomax’s weren’t just small holders, selling eggs and vegetables, they were known poachers and Harry, the son, like as not, knew Joan as they’d be about the same age. But how would he catch them when he didn’t move as fast as he’d like and certainly not fast enough to catch a young rogue like Lomax. French hadn’t been impressed either when he returned from George Street without a result, accusing him of going on ‘a wild goose chase’. Seth had said that if he’d had a rifle or a dog, they wouldn’t have made a run for it, but French maintained Seth had to prove himself first. Seth felt French had it in for him and how could he expect him to do a gamekeeper’s job without a dog and a gun?  Seth was cold and damp, though fumed inwardly, determined to prove French wrong and wipe that smirk off Edie Fishwick’s face by catching that daughter of hers.

    Two days later, as Joan left Corston’s, spilling on to the street with the rest of the shift, she tuned into a familiar voice.

   ‘Nah then Joan?’ shouted Harry, to make himself heard among the laughing knots of workers. 

   ‘How do ‘arry,’ said Joan in reply as she moved towards him so she could hear better.

   He wore his familiar smile as he leant against the factory wall, arms folded.

   ‘’ow’s Dapple doin’?’

   ‘Grand ‘arry,’ offered Joan coolly.

   ‘D’ya fancy givin’ ‘er a run on’t estate later?’ said Harry, leaning closer, his voice low.

   ‘Tha what? Are you cracked ‘arry Lomax? We were nearly caught t’other night and then Seth came knocking, talking about fetching’t Police. Me Mam gave me holy ‘ell later cos of it.’ 

   ‘Seth couldn’t catch a bloody cold. ‘e’s too fat to run for a start!’ laughed Harry.

   ‘Keep your voice down ‘arry,’ hissed Joan, ‘‘e nearly caught me and I’m telling ya, ‘e’s on to me.’ 

   ‘I ‘eard it were ‘im who got your mother out of ‘ere.’ said Harry, nodding at the factory gate to his left.

   ‘Aye,’ replied Joan with a grimace.

   ‘Well, let’s give ‘im some payback. Let’s run Seth ragged up on’t estate while Dapple pays for ‘er keep in rabbits. I’ve used ‘er up there many a time. She knows what to do.’

   Joan eyed him dubiously, though she was certainly weighing Harry’s words.

   ‘What you need Joan is a disguise and to keep yer ‘air well under a cap. I’ve got some togs you could use.’

   ‘I’m sure you ‘ave, but I’m not coming ‘arry,’ said Joan with a firm tone that belied the indecision she felt as she walked on. Harry quickly fell into step next to her and Joan sighed with exasperation, as much with her own conflicting thoughts as with Harry’s annoying persistence.

 

Two days on and Joan was squatting down next to the Allerton estate wall at dusk with Dapple on her left and Harry on her right. Her hair was contained under a khaki balaclava, and she had a bulky donkey jacket on, both courtesy of Harry. Joan felt safer in that she couldn’t be easily recognised but still wasn’t convinced that returning to the estate was a good idea. She certainly hadn’t told Edie and had just said she was off on a long walk with Dapple. Edie had eyed her dubiously, given that it was going dark and had pointedly told her to ‘Keep away from Harry bloody Lomax!’. Joan had just nodded and bustled Dapple out the door as she felt her cheeks flushing red. 

   Harry tapped Joan lightly, waking her from her thoughts and cupped his hands in order to help her over the wall. They were entering where the wall was higher than last time and Harry had set up a wooden stump for him to use in due course. Joan lowered herself but still dropped with a thump, then Dapple landed deftly next to her. Harry had lifted her up so her front paws were on the wall top before she scrambled over. Joan grabbed Dapple’s lead, looked about her, then stood and moved to the cover of a tree as Harry cleared the wall. They had alighted in an area Harry called The Glade. It was very similar in outline to where they had been previously, with trees bordering the boundary before giving way to a wide expanse of grass on rising ground. It was this rise that was heavily populated by rabbits, while the trees were full of pheasants. Harry had told Joan that they occasionally caught pheasants for a special treat by putting down grain soaked in alcohol. It made the pheasants tipsy and easier to catch. Joan had looked at Harry dubiously, not knowing whether he was serious. Truth be told, Joan didn’t really know how to take Harry in all sorts of ways, but, other than his ready smile, she knew there was some other indefinable attraction, and it was growing. 

    Seth waited in the courtyard of the estate’s stables where French had his office. He’d arrived early, hoping to make a good impression but French’s office had been closed. Seth had cursed to himself before slumping against the stable wall as he killed time by smoking a cigarette and lamenting what a lousy job it was. Then he heard the eager step of French who emerged round the corner of the building with a massive fawn coloured dog on a stout leather lead. 

   ‘There you are Seth,’ smiled French. ‘I’ve got you a present. Meet Buster, our new Bull Mastiff!’

   French fed the dog towards Seth. It’s large head with black, slobbering jowls was over waist height. Seth tentatively put his hand out to it. 

   ‘He’s friendly if you know him,’ offered French. ‘But he’ll be mustard if he’s chasing somebody down. We had one a few year back, but he got too old for’t work. This new fella, he’s as heavy as a man but his teeth are a lot sharper,’ grinned French. 

   Seth just nodded, carefully stroking Buster who thankfully seemed to like it. 

   ‘I want you to patrol with him from now on. His Lordship’s big concern is the organised gangs coming from Blackburn and Bolton for pheasants. If there’s a few of ‘em, you’ll need Buster’s help with those sort o’ lads.’

   ‘What about a gun? If these lads are as tough as you say.’

   French shook his head, passed the lead across and turned smartly on his heel without further comment, causing Seth to mutter a curse before heading for The Glade in the twilight.

   Harry stood up slowly, wiping the mossy earth from his hands on the sides of his trousers as he looked around him and listened. Joan scanned around her too, gripping Dapple’s lead as the big greyhound tugged in excited anticipation, ears half-cocked as she too, absorbed her surroundings. Harry nodded and inclined his head to the left in instruction and they threaded through the trees towards the edge of the open ground. As soon as Dapple saw the field, she bucked on the lead and let out a low whine. Two large rabbits were grazing no more than fifty yards away and Harry nodded urgently at Joan, gesturing for her to slip Dapple’s lead. Once released, Dapple burst into the clearing. Then, with graceful, silent speed, she closed in on the grazing rabbits who began to run when they sensed her. But Dapple had made her choice before they had moved and closed in on the unfortunate and slightly bigger buck. She gathered it up, tossing the rabbit with practised ease, reducing it in an instant from a vibrant animal to a limp, inert form.

   Even in the half light at a hundred yards from behind a tree, Seth saw the white of Dapple’s legs blur across the grass, then the sudden swerve and stop as the rabbit was overwhelmed. He looked across at the treeline but knew the poachers would be well hidden. What to do? If he crossed the clearing, they’d see him and scarper before he reached them, so he’d wait until they retrieved the dog, then let Buster loose. With a bit of luck, Buster’d have made a mess of one of them by the time Seth walked across to take them to French. 

   As Dapple trotted back to the tree line with her prize, Seth emerged briefly from behind the stout oak, waited until Buster had spotted Dapple and with a hissed ‘Get ‘em lad’, removed the dog’s lead. Buster galloped across the ground, paws thumping the earth, ears pinned back, closing on Dapple, whose tail was wagging proudly as she re-entered the treeline and dropped the rabbit at Joan’s feet. Joan put it in a sack just as Harry’s smile slid from his face and he gave out a panicked oath:

   ‘Bloody ‘ell. A guard dog!’ 

   No sooner had Harry spoken, than Buster had closed the distance to the trees. They saw his size and knew they were in serious trouble. Dapple also sensed his approach and spun to face him. He slowed momentarily, regarding her with his head to one side, then launched at her, roaring forward. Dapple waited for the lunge, then at the last split-second, danced to Buster’s right. He turned, almost confused that he’d missed her, like a boxer who had thrown a punch at a disappearing opponent. Buster lunged once more and again Dapple spun daintily away and he snapped at thin air, spittle flying from his jowls. Dapple led him on, cavorting and turning in tight circles as he pursued her determinedly, but in vain. 

   Meanwhile, Harry had grabbed Joan by the arm, ushering her to their entry spot where the tree stump waited that he’d thrown over earlier. 

   ‘What about Dapple? I can’t leave ‘er,’ wailed Joan as Harry helped her on to the wall’s top.

   ‘That brute’ll never catch ‘er,’ laughed Harry.

   ‘She could be shot!’

   ‘I’ve never known Frenchy use a gun yet. Besides, she knows the route out. Come on, we can’t be seen ‘ere.’ 

   Seth watched the show from the other side of the clearing with increasing frustration. He could see the bloody greyhound, and he was sure this time it was Edie and Joan Fishwick’s. It was simply playing with Buster. Dapple teased him repeatedly, letting him catch up, only to flick away from him as he closed in. It ended when Buster could run no further and lay down, chest heaving and his mouth a panting, slobbering mess. Dapple approached him and when she saw he wasn’t for moving any more, she turned away, almost in disgust before loping off into the trees from where she came. Seth trudged over to Buster, angrily thrashing the air with his lead.

   Joan and Harry, squatted behind the hedge at the roadside adjacent to the estate largely hidden by the rapidly enveloping darkness. Little was said as their hearts gradually stopped beating a panicked rhythm. Harry could sense Joan was angry with him, so for once he was quiet. As for Joan, she was furious with herself for being foolish enough to go and put Dapple at risk as well. Within a few minutes though, they heard a scuffing sound on the road. It was Dapple, dutifully dragging the sack with the rabbit in, her silhouette just visible. Harry gave a low whistle and she homed in on them, finding the gap in the hedge they’d crawled through.

   ‘That were lucky. She would have been ‘eading to the normal meeting place further up. We’ve done well to spot ‘er,’ said Harry, clearly relieved as he stroked Dapple’s neck in praise, taking the sack from her and giving her a bacon piece.

   ‘We’ve all been bloody lucky  ‘arry,’ said Joan as she attached Dapple’s lead to her collar, ‘that big dog would ‘ave made mincemeat of us if it had got ‘old of us.’

   ‘Aye, but it didn’t, did it,’ said Harry, his usual confidence returning with Dapple’s arrival.

   ‘We were lucky! If it weren’t for Dapple leading it a merry dance, we’d’ve been right in it.’

   ‘I’ve seen Mastiffs on’t estate before Joan. They can’t catch a greyhound or lurcher. You just need to keep tight in’t trees and near’t wall and you’re alreet. I’ve never been caught yet.’

‘Mmm,’ replied Joan, unconvinced, ‘let’s get movin’ before Seth comes knocking again.’

    Seth walked Buster slowly, playing his torch into the trees, hoping to see something, though doubting he would. Buster didn’t even raise his head; he just lumbered along, almost completely spent. Seth knew better than to ask French about going to Edie’s again, even though he was sure the greyhound had been hers. He knew she’d just deny it anyway No, there had to be another way of sorting this out. After brooding and trudging awhile in the darkness, Seth smiled to himself. He had an idea and if he could get hold of what he wanted, he was sure he could stop these bloody poachers for good.

   Edie suspected where Joan had been as soon as she handed the rabbit to her without making eye contact, then disappearing to wash her hands at the sink. Unusually for Joan, she looked worn out and anxious, so Edie bit her tongue and set about skinning the rabbit. It was a big one and certainly welcome. Edie had walked to three factories that morning looking for work and even got a bus to Blackburn to see if there was anything there. It was the same, sad story there as in Dunley; no one was taking workers on and many were laying folk off.  So, Joan’s rabbits were a bonus and Edie tried to push the thought of Seth and the Police out of her mind. Instead, she focused on looking forward to a proper meal and watching Peter eat well rather than trying to fill him up on bread and jam again. Dapple would do well too and only fair if she’d caught it. 

   Later, as they sat down to a meaty stew and a pile of bread, Edie’s mind was clouded with   worry as Joan ate silently, solemn face focused on her bowl. Thankfully, Peter tucked in with relish, oblivious to the unsaid cares that burdened his mother and sister, while Dapple slept peacefully, stretched out in front of the hearth.

 

Three days later, Seth took a bus to the edge of Bolton. It was cold and fresh as he panted up a short rise alongside a terrace of smart, bay windowed houses guarded by wrought iron railings. The small, but uniformly neat front gardens showed this to be a relatively affluent area and not what Seth had expected. His breath curled away in the air as he fumbled in his coat pocket for the scrap of paper Bert had written the address on. He was looking for 28 which turned out to be the end house, and he was soon through the green gate, knocking at the matching door. A small, wiry man with a thin blade for a face and sparse red hair answered. Seth surmised he was probably in his forties.

   ‘How do. I’m Seth Fishwick.’

   ‘Tommy Murphy,’ nodded the man, his features expressionless, while smoke curled lazily upwards from a roll-up between his right thumb and forefinger.

   ‘I believe you know our Bert.’

   ‘Aye. I’ve seen ’im now and again at Belle Vue dogs and e’s moved some stuff on for me now an’ again.’

   ‘I think e’s told you what I’m after,’ said Seth.

   Murphy nodded, swung the door wider and in flat tones said, ‘Come through.’

   It was a well-kept house with a fine rug laid in the tiled hall and paintings on the walls.

   ‘What is it that you do Tommy?’ asked Seth as they moved from through the house and into a long narrow garden with walls either side.

   ‘This an’ that,’ was all that was offered. 

   They followed a path of flagstones cutting through the lawn to a large black shed, probably five yards by three. As Murphy clipped open the heavy padlock, the smell of straw and dog wafted Seth’s way. Though the shed had a window on one side it was dark as they entered. Seth saw why when he went in. It was partitioned into two rooms with the window in the room to the right which had a chicken-wire door. Speckled light shafted through it into the left-hand section which was full from floor to ceiling with shelves crammed with a random array of goods. Among them were tools, ornaments that looked good quality and expensive looking clocks. 

   Murphy interrupted Seth’s gawping at his Aladdin's Cave, coughing and inclining his head towards the door on the right. 

   ‘Do you want to see’t dog first?’

   ‘Aye, will do.’

   Seth could hear movement in the gloom and then saw two amber eyes glinting through the chicken wire as Murphy took a collar with the lead attached to it from a nail and approached the door.

   ‘He’s alright wi’ people,’ offered Murphy as he went through the door.

   He re-emerged with the biggest black greyhound Seth had ever seen. The sheer size of the dog meant Seth took a half-step back, though he could see its tail wagging, so he put his hand towards it slowly. The dog sniffed him curiously before licking his wrist.

   ‘What’s it called?’ asked Seth, rubbing its head.

   ‘Mac. It’s racing name was Black Mac.’

   ‘and ‘ow old is it?’

   ‘Just two. It were kicked out of Belle Vue after a couple o’ trials. Turning its ‘ead.’

   Seth looked puzzled. 

   ‘He kept trying to bite t’other dogs,’ explained Murphy. ‘If they turn their ‘ead, they’re disqualified. It’s dangerous an’ stops ‘em running proper like.’

   Seth nodded.

   ‘So it’s no good wi’ other dogs then?’

   ‘Its no good wi’ other animals full-stop!’ It was the first sign of emotion Murphy had shown as his voice rose in pitch and he went on, suddenly animated.

   ‘When I went to collect it, it were up on its bloody back legs wanting to kill a cat that were on a wall. I could just about hold on to it!’

   ‘It’s a big ‘un. ‘ow ‘eavy is it?’ asked Seth, as he kept on stroking Mac.

   ‘About 90 pounds I were told. Six and a half stone o’muscle.’ 

   Seth paused in thought, suddenly concerned about getting the brute back to the Allerton Estate on the bus without it causing mayhem.

   Murphy seemed to read his thoughts, ‘I’ll throw in a muzzle for nowt.’

   ‘Bert tells me you’ll tek a tenner.’

   ‘Aye. I’m just moving it on for someone. He can’t even house it with a bitch; it just goes for everything. Mad Bugger it is.’

   ‘I’ll buy ‘im. It’s to guard on’t Allerton Estate.’

   ‘He won’t go for people y’know’ warned Murphy.

   ‘It’s not people I want ‘im for. It’s to chase other dogs.’

   ‘This bugger won’t just chase! He’ll kill ‘em if he can.’

   ‘Exactly what I want,’ said Seth with a sour smile.

   Murphy just nodded before tugging back on the lead adding, ‘I’ll put him back for now, so you can look at the other thing you’ve come for.’

   ‘Grand,’ said Seth, looking round greedily at the shelves.

   ‘Mind you. You’ll not manage it wi’ the dog, it’s ‘eavy. If you pay now, I can send it through on a wagon going your way in a couple o’ days.’ 

 

   Dapple lay flat out on the rug, snoozing noisily. As low as she felt, Edie couldn’t help but smile as she rocked in the chair next to her. Edie had grown fond of Dapple over the weeks, just as she feared Joan had of Harry Lomax. She was bitterly only too familiar with the pitfalls of falling for the wrong man and she really wasn’t sure about Harry. He’d dropped a couple of rabbits in the night before, but at least Joan hadn’t been out hunting with him. Her and Dapple had been safe and sound at home, so she suspected Harry providing food for their table was more a chance to see Joan rather than a generous act. After all, the two of them had spent long enough whispering and giggling on the doorstep and with no thought about letting a cold draft in. Yet Edie knew Joan had a good heart, even if she didn’t always think things through. Edie’s worry was that Harry would break it and lead her into trouble in the bargain. As her mind buzzed, she felt a tapping on her leg. It was Dapple, pawing her and grinning, wanting her tummy stroked. Edie laughed aloud and, as she dropped to her knees, tickling Dapple’s white mottled belly, the worries, for now, fell from her mind.

 

   Joan was tired and aching as she walked through Corston’s gates along with the rest of her shift. The fatigue seemed to slip away though when she spotted Harry leaning against the wall. Phylis Hurst, the factory gossip had seen him too and couldn’t resist a comment.

   ‘Eh up Joan, ‘arry Lomax is ‘ere again for ya. Tha must be doin’ summat right for ‘im!’ 

   A gaggle of women cackled behind her and Joan reddened, pulling herself into her coat as she approached Harry who was smiling as usual, one heavy black boot up against the wall behind him.

   ‘Now then ‘arry. What’s to do?’ she said, sharper than she meant to.

   ‘Nowt Joan. I was passing, so I thought I might catch yer comin’ out, like.’

   They moved off together, peeling away from the mass of workers, not speaking until they were out of earshot. 

   ‘Has owt come up for yer Ma yet work-wise?’ asked Harry.

   Joan shook her head and furrowed her brow. 

   ‘You’ll be goin’ short o’brass then?’ he said, clearly concerned.

   ‘We’re managing,’ said Joan defensively. ‘I tip most o’ my money in and Dapple’s caught a couple o’ rabbits on’t back field again. She must be getting th’ang o’ where they are.’ 

   ‘Two in a week? Pirate’s ‘ad two or three a night up on’t estate,’ said Harry brightly ‘I’ve been usin’ a new spot like.’

   ‘Aye, well if that Mastiff gets ‘old of ya up there, rabbits’ll not be th’only thing being served upl.’

   Harry grinned and shook his head dismissively.

   ‘Joan, I’ve told thee before, if you keep in’t trees and watch carefully, you’re reet. Seth and Frenchy are easy to spot, wi’t torches flailing all’ower. T’other night, I reckon e’ must o’ seen Pirate because I could see ‘im on’t yonder side o’t field and e’ just kept t’dog on’t lead. Mind you, after Dapple’d taught it a lesson, e’s probly frightened it’ll ‘ave ‘eart attack!’

   ‘Seth’s not funny ‘arry. I know ‘im an’ e’s a wrong ‘un and not to be messed with. Knowing ‘im, e’ll be up t’summat to get thee,’ Joan warned, to which Harry laughed again, then leant towards her so their shoulders touched. It felt strangely pleasurable to Joan, even though Harry’s levity was annoying.

   ‘Come on Joan. Dapple’s a running dog and I’ve trained ‘er to work. She can’t be lying in front o’t fire all her life. ‘ow about we tek ‘er up to th’estate and you keep out and only I go in?’ 

   ‘And what do I do while you’re t’other side t’wall? Twiddle me thumbs, worried sick about pair o’yer?’

   Harry smiled, pleased by her concern.

   ‘There’s nowt t’ worry about. Dapple can’t be caught with ‘er speed and I can look after mi’sel.’ 

   ‘Well if you’re in and out quick,’ said Joan, trying to convince herself.

   ‘Let’s go tomorrow then. I’m sure a couple o’ rabbits’’ go down well wi’ your Ma,’ encouraged Harry.

 

As Seth walked up to the estate, he pondered on French’s reaction to Mac’s arrival. While he’d looked unconvinced, he had at least backed Seth’s judgement by providing the money for the dog and listened when he said they’d have to keep it separate from the other estate dogs. He knew though, that he needed a result with Mac to show French that the way to stop the poaching was to deal with the dogs. As he’d said to French, no dog, no poacher. He was now banking on Mac proving him right, and soon.

 

The next day, as afternoon gave way to evening, Joan looked up into the increasing inky darkness, softened by a bright moon. She was crouched down by the estate wall at the same spot they had last used, imagining what was happening on the other side. Dapple had certainly been eager and had scrambled happily over when Harry lifted her up. She just hoped Harry’s easy confidence was justified, though for every minute that passed, her fears bubbled within, fed by images of the massive Bull Mastiff and Seth’s cruel face. 

    Meanwhile, Harry was tucked behind a tree holding Dapple on a slip lead, cursing inwardly. Joan had been twenty minutes late and it was now too dark to see if there were any rabbits out beyond the treeline at anything more than twenty yards. On an evening like this he’d normally use a big lamp to find the rabbits and guide the dog on to them, but not when he knew there were gamekeepers about. He could now either wait in the hope of a rabbit being seen close to, or let Dapple go to see if she could find one. Good hunter as Dapple was, like all greyhounds, she hunted largely by sight, so could end up just running about in the dark. Yet he’d promised Joan he would be in and out in quarter of an hour, so with the small parcel of time he had, Harry gambled and let Dapple go. She quickly melted into the night and Harry, like Joan, could now only wait.

    Seth’s boots made a swishing sound against the longer damp grass as he patrolled the edge of the field. The estate’s boundary wall lay a hundred yards to his left and beyond the trees where Buster had recently chased round to the point of collapse, but it was now hidden under the cloak of darkness. Seth’s torch was tucked away, his cigarettes were also grudgingly in his pocket and he’d rehearsed his route in daylight in the hope of surprising any night-time trespassers. Mac was at his side, though his colour meant that Seth could hardly see him, just hear the occasional chink from the brass linkage of collar and lead. Then suddenly, Mac power jerked violently forward. Heavy as Seth was, it bent him over like a tree in a storm as he gripped on to the big greyhound’s lead. Seth realised Mac must have seen something and, as he stood upright and reeled the big greyhound back towards him, he spotted it. Just for an instant, a flash of white about thirty yards away that prompted a howl and another lunge forward from Mac. Seth just managed to unclip the lead as he pitched forward on to his hands and knees as Mac sprinted malevolently into the night.

   Joan’s stomach seemed to turn over when she heard the howl. Was it Dapple? Had she been hurt? Had that big brute of a Mastiff caught her? She jumped up from her squat, looking frustratedly at the wall. Joan knew she couldn’t get over it unaided. As she went closer to the wall, she removed the balaclava, cupping one of her ears with her hand as if it would help her hear better, though without seeing what was happening, it didn’t help with the worry churning within.

    Harry heard the howl too. He stood, unconsciously holding his breath as he scanned the field. Then, adrenalin coursed through him, when, for a fleeting moment, he saw not two, but four glinting eyes in the moonlight. Dapple would soon have company, and he couldn’t see what was closing in on her.

    Dapple sensed Mac’s approach, before she saw him. She’d heard the howl seconds before, then the thrumming of his paws on the wet turf. It belied his position and as he closed in, Dapple was already turning away from the sound. But the big, black hound was moving quicker and in seeing Dapple more clearly now, followed her turn. She squealed as his upper right canine pierced the left side of her neck, though the tightness of her turn took her away from his grasping jaws as her skin tore painfully. Dapple sprinted for her life, but within seconds, she felt the heat of Mac’s breath on her right ear as he tried to grab her again. Instinctively, she ducked under his snapping fangs before jinking left and being covered again by the cloak of night. Mac searched frantically for her, loping around in circles and whining in frustration as the sight, sound and smell of her teased him intermittently, coming and going like an elusive fish in a deep pool. After a few minutes, he came to a panting stop only to spot her momentarily in a shaft of moonlight, before she ghosted into darkness once again and made for the treeline and Harry. 

   The nocturnal chase had flitted in and out of Harry’s sight, but he’d glimpsed enough of Dapple’s black pursuer to know that this was no loping Mastiff, but a much faster dog that was quick on the turn too. Then, when he saw the white of Dapple’s legs beating a rapid retreat towards the trees, he knew it was time to move. Harry ran as quick as he dared through the trees in the darkness, thankfully spotting a section of the wall’s brickwork turned blue in the moonlight. With the wall only five yards ahead, Harry suddenly sprawled heavily forward, tripped by a root. As he started to pick himself up, he heard the rustling of leaves and drumming of paws. Then he felt the breath of the dog, just before it licked the back of his neck. Harry let out a relieved sigh, grabbed Dapple’s collar and made for the wall. With a strength borne of urgent need, Harry launched her upwards and she scrambled clear. Then another jolt of fear surged through him at the sound of something else closing in from behind. 

   He turned and sensed the dog by its heavy, quick steps in the leafy undergrowth before he could discern its outline. By the time the moonlight revealed its silhouette, it was only two yards away and Harry realised he would never make the wall. He readied himself to kick it, but it just stopped and regarded him, amber eyes shining, tongue lolling and then, bizarrely, he could just make out its tail wagging. Harry remained still. He couldn't hear anyone approaching, only the sound of the dog’s light panting, while also feeling his own heart pumping hard. The dog moved slowly to him, tail still swishing its greeting and he put his hand forward for it to sniff. Mac was soon licking his fingers as Harry reached into a pocket with his other hand for some dried bacon. He wafted it quickly over Mac for the smell to catch his attention, then threw the treat to his left and the big greyhound darted after it. Harry quickly made for the wall, heaving himself over before dropping with a thud just before Seth’s torch beam flashed along the now empty brickwork. His roving light then found Mac snuffling along the ground in front of the wall in an optimistic search for more bacon. 

    ‘Bugger,’ spat Seth between gasps of cold air. As his shoulders heaved, he angrily kicked a tree trunk, then gurned with pain, while Mac continued to mill about wagging his tail. As he looked about him, Seth realised this was close to where he’d nearly caught who he thought was Joan Fishwick a few weeks back. He played the torch round him and on to the wall, spotting a glistening streak, like fresh paint high up on the bricks. He went closer and reached up to touch it. It was blood. Seth gave a tight smile at the thought that Mac might have done some damage, which was some consolation. He was also sure it was Joan again because the one time he sighted the dog Mac was chasing, it looked like her dog. So, there was a pattern with these poachers, same dog and same spot for entry and exit. Seth’s pained grimace formed into a grin. By knowing where they came and went, he now had the means to stop at least one of them leaving for certain.

   Harry had run for the cover of the hedge across the road from the estate as soon as he landed and Joan had followed with Dapple, now safely back on a lead. As his breathing slowed, he realised his left hand hurt, probably from when he had fallen over. He’d jarred his ankle too on landing. Through the gauze of night, he could make out Joan, stroking Dapple before she let out an involuntary cry. 

   Dapple’s bleedin! Her neck’s cut ‘arry.’

   ‘Shush,’ hissed Harry, but Joan was angry.

   ‘Never mind bloody shush,’ said Joan, ‘if we’d not come, she’d be alright and what’ve we got to show for it? Nowt!’

   Harry didn't reply but produced a torch, using his other hand to weaken its glare. He moved it over Dapple until he found the wet red patch on her lower neck. It was in one of the few places on a greyhound where there was some loose skin, so Harry knew it looked worse than it was.

   ‘She’ll be alreet Joan. I promise thee,’ said Harry softly. ‘We’ll leave it a few minutes, then tek ‘er back to mine to get ‘er seen to. Me dad’ll fettle ‘er.’

   Joan gave a curt nod, stifling tears as a sickening cocktail of feelings and thoughts swirled within. This caper was madness, so what was she doing here again, skulking about in the dark, risking her dog and herself? 

 

The next afternoon, Seth grunted with effort as he hauled a man-trap into the undergrowth near to where he’d seen the trespassers. Once among the trees, Seth bedded it in the soil, then gathered twigs and leaves to camouflage it. He then set it, pressing the metal jaws apart and downwards to the earthen floor. It required some real pressure to set and as he did so, he recalled Bert’s reaction when he’d demonstrated it to him earlier. The large metal teeth had snapped shut with such force, the twig he’d used to trigger it was cut in two, leaving just a flayed fragment in Seth’s hand. Bert’d said if that had been someone's leg, it’d cripple them for life. Too bad thought Seth. They’re trespassing and making me look stupid. The man-trap’ll teach them a lesson they’ll never forget. 

 

Joan looked out into the stark, red-walled yard through the back window, arms folded, reflecting on recent events.

   ‘Those pots’ll not wash ‘emselves our Joan,’ said Edie impatiently. ‘Come on girl, shape!’

   ‘Aye Ma,’ replied Joan, before turning to the sink. 

   As she scrubbed at the pans and dishes, she rinsed through her thoughts once more about Harry and the ‘shenanigans’ as Edie had called them, of the night Dapple had been injured. When Joan had returned from the Lomax’s with Dapple stitched on the neck and splashed yellowy-brown with iodine, Edie had demanded to know what had been going on. A weary, fraught Joan simply told Edie the truth. To Joan’s surprise, Edie had listened quietly and, while she had pursed her mouth when Harry had been mentioned, she’d not raved at her. Instead, she’d taken Joan in her arms and held her as Joan’s tears flowed and the tension drained away. Later though, Edie laid down two conditions—first, Joan wasn’t to go on the estate and second, she wasn’t to let Harry take Dapple there again either. Edie’s biggest fear was Joan getting in trouble with the Police. After all, it could lead to a fine they couldn’t afford and Joan losing her job. They might be struggling now, but they were getting by. If Joan was caught poaching, they may well go under. 

   Joan readily agreed to Edie’s conditions. They gave her a stout defence against Harry’s persuasive ways, and she’d find out if he wanted to see her without Dapple and without poaching. Yet it had now been three days since the night of Dapple’s injury and no sign of Harry at the factory or on their doorstep. Joan was relieved in one way because it meant no scene with Edie, but disappointed in another. She knew that only time would tell her what she meant to Harry and just as important, what he meant to her.

   As Joan was rinsing a glass out, Seth was holding yet another one to his lips. He was in The Green Man, having been frogmarched out of The Black Dog earlier on account of shouting at Jim Lomax, accusing his son of costing him his job. Jim had shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the bar on hearing Seth’s rantings. As a Great War veteran who’d gone over the top on the Somme, he wasn’t to be rattled by the likes of Seth Fishwick who’d escaped active service supposedly because of flat feet. 

   Jim hadn’t however, been able to resist making a comment saying,

   ‘I’m sure tha’ll be back on tha feet again soon Seth, even if they are flat.

   Seth responded with a torrent of abuse at which point the Landlord, Arthur, had smartly removed him, and not for the first time. Seth’s bans occurred periodically, though Arthur always relented because of the amount Seth drank. He was too good a customer to lose to The Green Man or The Station for good, even if he was high maintenance on occasion. 

   For now though, Seth was slumped in a corner booth of The Green Man. He’d reached the point of slurring his order, though was not yet sufficiently drunk to forget about losing another job. Tom, one of the other Assistant Gamekeepers had been walking Mac when he pulled the lead out of his hand and attacked Buster the mastiff. In the ensuing melee, Tom received a nasty bite on the hand through separating the dogs and Mac had a severe gash to his neck requiring expensive veterinary attention. Tom was then unable to work and an angry French had carpeted Seth later that day, saying it was his fault for bringing a dog that was a liability on to the estate. He then proposed to reduce Seth’s wages by two shillings a week until the vet’s bill of a pound was paid. In temper, Seth had told French he wasn’t accepting a pay cut. It wasn’t his fault if Tom couldn’t handle the dog, at which point French had said  it was ‘either take a pay cut or take a walk’. Seth’s reply implied that it was French who needed to take a walk, except the sentiment had been delivered in more colourful terms. Unsurprisingly, Seth was promptly sacked. 

   As he’d left the estate, red faced and seething, Seth had looked across the grounds towardsthe trees and thought about the man-trap cocked and waiting in the undergrowth. He’d considered diverting over the grass and setting it off just in case it trapped the wrong person or one of the estate dogs. He didn’t consider it for long though and the thought in his mind back then, was said aloud now.

   ‘Bugger ‘em,’ mumbled Seth, thumping his empty glass on to a beer mat.

   Bert Fishwick cut through the fug of cigarette smoke that wreathed the bar of The Black Dog to stand next to Jim Lomax. Bert may have had a few that night, but he didn’t want Lomax as an enemy. The farmer-cum-poacher filled the frame of a door and knew a lot of other hard men. He was also worried about Joan.

   ‘ow do Jim?’

   Jim Lomax turned his solid block of a head and nodded at Bert, cigarette balanced between his lips.

   ‘I’m alreet Bert ta, but what’s to do wi’ that bloody brother o’yours. ‘e’s just shouted summat about me getting’ ‘im sacked!’

   Bert sighed and hesitated, searching for the right words.

 

At the same time, Harry was among the trees on the estate, hidden by the night and close to the entry point he’d been using regularly of late. Earlier that day, one of the estate gardeners Harry knew told him that Tom Snaith was off gamekeeping duties and Seth Fishwick had been sacked. This meant that Frenchy only had one gamekeeper, old Charlie Bradford who only worked in the day. Unless Frenchy was going to patrol the whole estate himself all night, Harry had a free run. So, he’d come late with his lamp and with Pirate, plus a big sack for all the rabbits he hoped to take home. 

   There was a dark sky with no moon. Though Harry could see little, his senses were alive. He could smell the musty fragrance of the wood and hear the slight groaning of the trees in the keen wind that stung his cheeks like a sharp, cold hand and he felt fully alive.

    Pirate stood by Harry’s side beginning to strain on the lead as he switched the lamp on. He swung the beam from the trees on to the field, hoping to frame a rabbit in its glare. He saw nothing with his first pass, but as he held the light higher, he spotted a rabbit, grazing about thirty yards away, then quickly slipped Pirate’s lead. The big lurcher followed the beam that cut through the night, then entered the spotlight to make a quick, silent kill before disappearing into the dark as she looped back to Harry. The rabbit was warm in Harry’s hands as he took her from Pirate and fed him a reward of streaky bacon in return. Then, as he was placing the rabbit in the sack, his face was illuminated in the sharp glare of a torch.

   ‘Caught red-handed Harry lad!’ shouted French, disembodied by the dark; but his deep, flat voice was unmistakeable.

   ‘Now get that mutt on a lead and don’t move. I’ve got Buster wi’ me and he’s ready for supper if need be.’

   Harry clipped Pirate on to his lead and stood up straight, before shining his lamp towards French, wanting to check he really did have the dog. He sighed in defeat once the beam picked it out to the left of Frenchy, eyes glinting, large mouth open and only about ten yards away. There would be no sprint for the wall this time.

   ‘Get that lamp off!’ shouted French, ‘I don’t want that shone in me face. I know that trick!’

   Harry sighed again as he switched the lamp off. He hadn’t intended to blind Frenchy anyway.

   ‘I’m coming to you, so stay exactly where you are,’ ordered French. ‘If you move, I’ll let Buster loose, and no ideas about slipping that dog off to lead ‘im off on a wild goose chase.’

   French shone the torch lower now; the beam focused on Harry’s hand with the lead in. It also lit the path through the undergrowth as French came forward. It was then Harry saw a metallic glint among the leaves. For a moment he thought about letting Frenchy keep walking.

   ‘Stop!’ shouted Harry as French was about five yards from him and six feet short of the metal prong protruding above the grass and leaves.

   ‘What?’ demanded French.

   ‘Stay still! I think there’s a trap in’t undergrowth,’ said Harry. ‘Here, let me get a stick to see.’

   ‘No!’ shouted French. ‘No bloody sticks. Let me see.’ 

   Then French realised he couldn’t hold Buster, shine the torch and pick up a stick all at once.

   ‘Alright then,’ French continued after a pause for thought, ‘you get a stick and see if there’s a trap.’

   Harry scanned around, suddenly aware there might be more traps. 

   ‘Are there any more?’ Harry asked.

   ‘How would I know? I wouldn’t set traps. It’s illegal; like bloody poaching,’ retorted French.

   Harry kept his feet set where they were and, bending at the waist reached forward to pick up a branch about three foot in length and as thick as a man’s thumb. 

   ‘Shine t’torch in front o’me so I can see t’ ground,’ asked Harry.

   The beam duly dropped to illuminate the area in front of his feet. Harry shuffled cautiously forward, surveying the ground intently and holding Pirate on a short lead tight as he was showing some interest in Buster. Momentarily, Harry lost sight of the metal prong, then found it again, before prodding the ground in front of it with the stick. A sharp metallic crack, like a rifle shot, echoed through the trees as the jaws slammed together. Harry and Pirate jolted back involuntarily as the force reverberated through the shattered wooden limb and French’s torch beam flicked upwards as he too flinched.

   ‘Bloody norah. It’s a man-trap,’ said French with incredulity.

   ‘Aye, and you’d ‘ave walked on to it,’ said Harry, ‘it’d cut your leg in two.’ 

   ‘It would that. There might be more mind,’ said French.

    ‘There’s no more, I’m sure.’ 

   It was spoken by a voice familiar to both from within the darkness. Then French’s torch picked out Jim Lomax behind a nearby tree.

   ‘Seth Fishwick set it a few days back. He’d showed it Bert, his brother, who let me in on it tonight. ‘e was worried Joan and Harry might set it off. I got ‘ere as fast as I could,’ added Jim. 

   ‘So you knew your lad was poaching then,’ accused French, his waspish tone returning.

   ‘Come on Frenchy, you know the score. You’ve turned a blind eye to me and ‘arry on this estate for years. We’ve kept the rabbits down, only took the odd pheasant when we could’ve ’ad the lot and you know it. Your problem’s bigger gangs tekin’ deer.’  

   French didn’t reply at first, though he knew Jack was right. Harry had also saved him from a terrible injury and could have left him suffering in the dark, trapped all night in a remote spot. He might have died. After what seemed a long time to Harry, though less than half a minute, French spoke again.

   ‘I haven’t seen either o’you tonight and there’s been no man-trap set on this estate either. Agreed.’

   ‘Agreed,’ said Jim and Harry in unison as Harry’s customary smile returned.

 

                                                                    EPILOGUE

The sun shone in an open sky as Harry looked to his right, across the broad green swathe dotted with oaks and up towards the hall. Lord Allerton’s coat of arms of a leaping black hound on a yellow background fluttered proudly on its pole above the imposing four storey building. Harry thought the flag a fitting standard to work under, even if he had received a mixture of gentle chiding and cruel abuse for literally becoming a poacher turned gamekeeper. That was all a year ago and Harry was now French’s right-hand man. The Head Gamekeeper had recognised that who better to keep the estate secure than someone who knew every trick in the book about poaching. The fact Harry had saved him from being crippled for life had weighted the scales in his favour too. 

   ‘What’s tha thinking?’ asked Joan, walking with her arm entwined with Harry’s while Dapple trotted ahead.

   ‘Nowt much. Just that it’s a grand place to live.’

   ‘Aye, Frenchy did well for us letting us ‘ave Keeper’s Cottage when Charlie retired.’

   Harry nodded and gave his usual broad smile as they strolled in unison and looked ahead, soaking in the view, hearing the birds, smelling the cut grass. It was the walk of a couple who were as happily married after six months as they had been after one day. 

   Edie had gladly admitted she’d been wrong about Harry and said so at the wedding. It had been a great day for them all. Edie had been taken back on at Corston’s following lobbying by the other machinists, so they could afford a buffet at The Black Dog. Harry and Joan followed it with two nights in Blackpool courtesy of Jim who’d had a good win on one of his dogs at Belle Vue. Even Bert had behaved himself on the day, though as Edie had remarked, Jim Lomax sitting nearby had a sobering effect on most men. Unsurprisingly, Seth, now working as a debt collector for a loan shark, was not invited. In any case, he was now barred for good from ‘the dog’ having taken a swing at the landlord and blacking his eye. 

   Both were lost in happy thoughts, then Joan stopped and turned to face Harry.

   We’ve fell lucky alright ’arry, but t’spare bedroom needs some fettling.’

   ‘But theres a lot o’ work on’t estate wi’ the pheasants and I’m getting deer back in now we’ve stopped the gangs coming on.’

   ‘Well, that spare room needs to be done in’t next six months,’ smiled Joan ‘and we’ll need a cot n’all.’

   Harry stopped, furrowed his brow in thought and then, with his widest smile, hugged Joan to him while Dapple jumped up to place a paw on each of them, her tail wagging furiously.

 

 

This story is from the author’s imagination. Any similarities with real people or situations are entirely coincidental. 

 

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