the meadows to clear the moles.
He looked around and his gaze settled upon a hawthorne bush about eight feet tall with thick growth at its base. Leaving Ruth to hold the mare he took his axe and chopped the bush off at its base. The thorny growth scratched his bare arms but this was ideal for his purpose. The long chain traces he’d carried with him were attached to the hame-tugs on either side of the collar and then stretched out behind the mare. The ends were fastened to the trunk of the hawthorne and it only remained for him to find a suitable tree branch about three feet long which he sharpened at both ends and wedged into the links of the chain traces behind the horse’s rump. This had the effect of holding the traces apart so that they wouldn’t rub the horse’s legs. When Maggie stood still and the tension was off the traces, this ‘spreader’ rested on her legs but when she was in draught it was held clear.
With Ruth astride Maggie, Amos led the horse up and down the meadow, the Hawthorne bush being dragged behind, flattening the grass and spreading the little heaps of soil in the mole hills. The stripes of flattened grass created a pleasing pattern on the meadow. Ruth seemed puzzled and asked, “Will this get rid of the moles?”
and Amos laughed and explained,
“No, a lot of these mole hills are quite old and until we’ve flattened them all out we can’t see where the little varmints are working. When they throw up their new mole hills then we can see where to set our traps”.
Amos thought to himself that he’d covered about twelve miles, just walking up and down that meadow, and his legs felt the strain. He lifted Ruth down and smiled as she tried to straighten out her aching limbs. Being stretched out over the broad back of the mare for such a long time had made them ache. Amos discarded the thorn bush and gathered up the chain traces and headed back towards Bright Meadows. “Just in time”, said Amos as the threatening clouds started to spit the rain they promised. Back in the yard they headed straight to the byre where Maggie was stabled and fed. In the farmhouse kitchen Mistress Sissie had again excelled herself with a hot meal. Amos and Master John talked over the day’s work and Master John lit a briar pipe that filled the room with a pungent smell. Ruth sat before the fire, stroking the dog – her new found friend.
The day had turned wet and miserable and so Amos decided to abandon work for the day. Master John found the pair two hessian sacks that they threw around their shoulders to keep off the worst of the rain. It was a good walk back to the van and Ruth chattered all the way about her mother and how many more days remained before she could be with them. Amos allowed her to chatter on but his thoughts were more concerned with whether Sarah would stay with him or would she decide to hit the road again?
Amos gathered some hazel whips from the bushes alongside the track and carried them back to the caravan where the evening was spent making his traps for the moles. Ruth watched fascinated and asked,
“What are you doing?”
Amos replied,
“Oh, I’m making some traps to catch those pesky moles. We call them ‘benders’. We shove one end into the ground and from the other end are two strings. One string is attached to a notched peg, like this one here, and the main piece is bent over and the notched peg is caught on a similar notched peg that is also pushed into the ground. So, the ‘bender’ is bent over and the two notched pegs caught together. Now, the second string is a noose and this is hung in the little tunnel that the mole makes. I cover over the hole I’ve made so the mole can’t see any light, then along he comes and pokes his head through this here noose and when he does that he dislodges the two notched pegs and the ‘bender’ springs up straight again, and he’s a gonner”.
“Poor little mole”, said Ruth.
“He’s no ‘poor little mole’, he a blooming nuisance. You’ve seen the mess he created on Master John’s fields. He’s one of those little varmints that seems to have no purpose in life but create damage. That’s why it doesn’t upset me to get rid of them”.
By the time he’d finished he’d made about eight or ten ‘benders’ and he placed them in a bundle under the caravan. “When I put them in the mole run - that’s his little tunnel - I have to make sure that I don’t leave my scent on the noose, otherwise he won’t go near it. They’re not very good really, I think more moles are killed by flood water than are ever killed in traps. He’s a crafty little blighter and he’s almost blind but his sense of smell is brilliant and he won’t go near anything with human scent on it”.
“Well, if he’s blind how does he ‘see’ where he’s going? and why put that grass over the hole you’ve dug?” asked Ruth.
“Well, although I said ‘he’s blind’ he can see the difference between dark and daylight. Most of the time he’s below ground and sight isn’t much use to him, so he relies on his sense of touch - feeling with his whiskers - and his smell”, replied Amos.
“ What do you do with it if you catch it?” enquired Ruth.
“I knocks him on the head and kills him. Some folks skin him and sew the skins together to make clothes but you need an awful lot to do that. I just take ‘em back to Master John to show how many I caught so’s he pays me”, answered Amos, bluntly.
The night had closed in and the camp fire died to a few glowing embers.
“Time for some shut-eye”, said Amos. The oil lamp flickered and threw strange shadows and Ruth held up the ‘fairy’ that Amos had whittled the night before, to the glass of the lamp and amused herself with the shadows that were cast on the walls. She took it to her cot and held it tight, she buried herself in the blanket covers but try as she may, sleep wouldn’t come. “What’s the matter, can’t you get to sleep?” Amos asked. “I’m too excited to sleep. I can’t help thinking about Ma”, she answered. He sat down on the edge of Ruth’s cot and stroked her brow.
“Will it help if I sing a lullaby? I used to sing when we were gathered around the camp fire”, he said, and without waiting for an answer he began to sing. The voice was low with a mellow timbre and the tune flowed in a soothing manner. He sang words that came to his mind in that instant.
“Little girl lost, is now little girl found.
Safe in a world, where love now abounds.
Free of the cares that held her apart,
Unburdened at last, a part of my heart”
It was just something made up on the spur of the moment and Ruth loved it.
“Please sing it again” she said, and Amos did his best to remember the words he had just sung. When he came to the end this second time, he just continued to hum the tune. He realised that Ruth was snuggled up to his side and holding his arm, but she was at last asleep. He gently laid her back on the cot and once more covered her. He turned down the wick of the oil lamp until it spluttered and went out, then he lay back on his own bed. He felt a real affection for the child and his thoughts went immediately to Sarah. He was both excited and apprehensive about whether Sarah would decide to stay or whether she would find it too difficult to accept such hospitality from a man, and perhaps decide to leave and take Ruth with her. He turned on his side and pulled the blanket over his head.
The remaining days, until Sarah’s release, simply dragged by. Amos tried desperately to fill his mind with thoughts of work, but the days were of such a slow pace that he couldn’t help himself, wishing they would fly. Ruth was excited to the point that the feeling was infectious and they both were really overwhelmed. Together they cleaned the caravan inside and out and sorted out the extra bedding
