Lucy passed Adam the three-legged woodworm-eaten milking stool, which had been in the corner of the cowshed since Adam was a lad, and stood back and watched. She hadn’t realized that part of her daily task was going to involve milking a cow, and she didn’t relish the experience.
‘She’s a quiet enough lass, so don’t worry – she’s used to being milked.’ Adam rubbed his hands together, warming them, then sat down next to the back-end of the cow, his feet wedging the bucket between them, placed underneath the teats. ‘Look, you get two teats at a time between your thumb and forefinger and gently pull down, squeezing the length of the teat. It takes some strength in your fingers, but you’ll soon get used to it.’ He put his head on the cow’s haunches and pulled gently on the teats, filling the bucket with warm, foaming milk. He carried on for a while, then stopped and stood up. ‘Here, you have a go. Take the two teats I haven’t touched; she’s nearly milked out in the others. You can tell because her udder’s gone all wrinkled on that side. Now, sit down quietly and rest your head on her side and pull as I did – you’ll soon get into a rhythm.’
Lucy sat down on the small stool, her skirts touching the dirty cowshed floor, as she hesitantly placed the bucket of milk between her legs, ready for squirting the milk into. She looked at the cow’s hind legs and flinched slightly when Daisy lifted one of her legs up, as Lucy’s cold hands felt her warm, smooth teats, nearly knocking over the bucket of milk.
‘You forgot to warm your hands. She’s like any woman – she likes warm hands on her and a little coaxing.’ Adam laughed, then concentrated on watching Lucy try to milk her.
‘It’s hard work and I’m not getting anything out of her, as you did. My fingers ache,’ Lucy whined as she squeezed and pulled on each teat.
‘Just pull and squeeze with one hand and then the other. Get into a rhythm, as I did. It will become easier each time you milk.’ Adam stood back and turned as he heard the footsteps of Archie coming into the cowshed. The lad stood in the doorway and smirked at the sight of Lucy trying to milk the cow, and fell about laughing as the beast whipped her across her face with her tail.
‘Bloody animal!’ Lucy swore. ‘And you can shut up, Archie Robinson. I bet you’ve never milked a cow before.’
‘I have, and when I did, it wasn’t half as slow as you. It’s going to be evening before she’s milked. Put her tail under your head and on her side, then she can’t swish you with it – that’s what I always do.’ Archie stopped laughing as Adam gave him a look.
‘Aye, do that. And I’ll take Archie into the yard while you finish milking, as the last thing you want is an audience.’ Adam patted Archie on the back and led him out of the shadows of the cowshed.
Lucy hesitantly picked up the tail of the patient cow; it was filthy and smelled of urine, as she wedged it between herself and the cow’s side, then went about trying to do her best milking the poor animal. Her fingers ached along with her back, but eventually – as Adam had said – she got into the swing of it, and sat back with a smile of satisfaction as the last drop of milk was squeezed from the cow’s udder. She’d learned to milk a cow, something she had never done in her life before.
She got up from her stool and patted the cow on her hindquarters. ‘I promise tomorrow I’ll be better, and I’ll warm my hands,’ Lucy said as she picked up the bucket of frothy milk. At least there was no shortage of milk today and it was fresh; not like the watered-down stuff that was delivered to the townsfolk down in Keighley. She looked around her; she quite liked the smell and warmth of the cow, and the contented noise it made as it digested the hay it had been given. Although her fingers ached, they would get stronger each day, and she could see herself enjoying her time as a milkmaid. It was, after all, a million miles away from being a tannery owner’s daughter who had the threat of an unwanted marriage hanging over her head. For a short while, her thoughts had been on the matter in hand and not on thoughts of the marriage that her father seemed to think was for her. How she wished that her home and her father were far away, and that she could spend her life on the moorside as a simple farm girl. But come nightfall, Lucy knew she would have to return home and face her father’s wrath, no matter what the day ahead held.
‘So, you managed it then.’ Adam smiled as Lucy made her way across the yard with her bucket of warm milk. ‘I thought you would, once you had got the hang of it.’
Archie grinned and put his head down. He remembered the first time he had been asked to milk a cow; he’d been only eight or nine years old and had shown no fear or worries, after watching his grandfather do the same job for many a year.
‘Yes, to be honest, I quite enjoyed the task. It was, as you say, soothing. And I don’t mind doing the job every morning, once my fingers get used to the work.’ Lucy put her bucket
