‘Sixty years, or a bit more. It was before the war, when we met.’
‘That’d be the Second World War, I suppose.’
Sam peered at her to see if she was making fun of him, but seemed to realize that she was not even born until nearly thirty years after the war was over.
‘Aye, I suppose there have been a few other wars since then,’ he conceded. ‘We joined up together as well, for a bit. Royal Engineers, of course. They were right glad to get miners. They welcomed us with open arms. We went over to France on D-Day and stayed there till the end.’ He chuckled. ‘It brings back a few memories still, does that.’
‘Really?’
139
‘French tarts,’ said Sam.
‘What?’
The old man chortled. ‘That’s what 1 remember mostly now. All the rest of it has pretty well gone, all the bad bits. But I remember the tarts in France. We were a long way behind the
O V
Front, of course. Rebuilding bridges, that sort of thing. Those French towns and villages were full of girls. And they were right
O O J O
glad to sec a few Tommies, I can tell you. We had a high old time. Me and Harry, that was. Wilford didn’t approve, of course.’
‘Harry?’
‘Harry Dickinson,’ said Sam. ‘You might have heard of him. Here’s your mate.’
Fry turned and saw Cooper’s Toyota coming back down the track, turning in by the Nissen hut. He parked behind the Transit and leaned out of the window.
‘There was no one at home up the lane,’ he said.
‘You’re Sergeant Cooper’s lad, aren’t you?’ said Sam.
‘Jesus,’ said Fry.
T’m sorry, I don’t think 1 know you, sir.’
‘Sam Beeley.’
The goat’s bellow was suddenly deafeningly near.
‘She’s out again,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll have to tell Wilford.’
O ‘
‘What’s the matter with it?’ asked Fry. Ts it ill?’
‘In season,’ said Sam, as if they were talking about a vegetable that was sometimes unavailable.
‘Will she be going to the billy, then?’ asked Cooper.
‘She’s off tonight. A bloke up Bamford way is taking her. He has a billy of his own.’
There was a clattering of hooves and a brown and white
O ‘
head topped by a pair of horns appeared briefly over the roof of the outhouse before the goat dropped nimbly into the paddock and skittered off into the deep grass at the far end.
‘Bugger,’ said Sam. ‘She’ll eat all the cabbages before we can cut them.’
‘Do you want a hand to catch her?’ suggested Cooper, getting out of the Toyota.
‘No, no. We’d never get near her. Wilford will fetch her
‘ O
140
back — she comes to him. She’s only a goatling, and she’s a hit wild. He calls her Jenny.’
‘Mr Beelev was telling me about when he first met Mr Cutts,’ said shee, anxious that the interview was drifting far awav from
. o
her. ‘ 1 heir fathers knew each other and they worked together,
is iliat riiTht-”
&
‘Of course, we all had jobs to go into then,’ said Sam. ‘Local jobs. There were always jobs in the mines then, or the quarries. It’s different for the young ones round here now, I suppose. The lad here will tell you that.’
Fry noticed that Sam didn’t doubt for a moment that she was from out of the area and knew nothing about it, while Ben Cooper would understand. Since she had been in Moorhay, she felt as though her lack of local origins had been pushed into her face, quite unconsciously and without malice, but very effectively. She had been treated politely by people at every property they had visited, but none of them had looked at her with the unspoken
recognition and sense of mutual understanding with which they
& & j
had looked at Ben Cooper when they realized who he was. ‘It’s been different round here for a long time now, Mr
