Gods Own Country (1987) by Ross Raisin

Author:Ross Raisin
Format: epub
Published: 1987-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

16

It was mighty early, before the sun was all risen, when the first ewe dropped her young. We’d been up hours already, waiting for the start – me, Father and the help, sat lined up on the kitchen chairs against the barn wall, passing a flask of tea as we watched over the bloated articles pacing their pens.

Course, Deltons had the whole family round to help with the lambing, but we just had the one same help as we’d got last year – a lad from down the valley, had his own vehicle. Mum thought he was something special, for he was training to be a veterinary, and he was always thank you this, thank you that with her, but all I saw was he wasn’t much use for anything but tidying the racks and cleaning out pens. If there was a proper job to be done, Father had me on it. When it started to get light outdoors, we herded them into the field so as they’d have plenty enough room, and soon after we’d done that there was one ewe took herself off to a corner and began to paw the ground and gurn her lip, showing the teeth. Tha’s first, Father said, and we stood a respecting distance off to watch the babby drop, a steaming bundle on the grass.

By midday we had six, all settled in snugs of straw in the barn. Most of them came natural, only two needed assisting – me steadying the front end while Father coaxed the lamb out with his hand and the help dawdled round the field yammering, she’s ready, this one, I’m sure this one’s ready. We just ignored him. Father hadn’t time for paying heed to him, or for gristling about Norman, or subsidies, or the weather, with all the work needed doing. He didn’t ease up until evening, though he let me and the help take us lunch in the kitchen. I ate mine quick, not bothering to listen as the help blathered on at Mum about his college and how many years he’d got left and what they got fed in the canteen. I was straight out to help Father – assisting the breached births, persuading the stubborn ewes to nurse, housing them with their lambs once they’d dropped.

In the afternoon I went round the field, with the help, collecting up afterbirth into buckets. We walked opposite ends, shovelling up the sluthery piles before they started attracting any scavengers who might get their jaws on them, such as the crows, or Mr Fox, or Sal. I’d half-filled my second bucketload before he’d done his first. He was more interested gawping at the Moors. I wasn’t fussed, though, he could idle all he liked as far as I cared, until I marked he was looking over toward the forest, and even though her spot was empty that day, I didn’t feel comfortable with him looking there, so I told him he’d better go back in the barn and see if Father wanted anything doing, I’d finish up with the afterbirth.

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