that’s good, Maisy’ll be distraught if anything happens to him.’
Life and death were normal processes at the farm, but it was hard at times not to get attached to individual creatures, especially when they were cute little lambs and you were only going on five years old. In fact, it was still pretty hard at twenty-four, Rachel mused. Her dad used to say she was far too soft back when she was a little girl herself, and that she shouldn’t name the animals, but Rachel couldn’t help her caring nature. She’d try her utmost to keep her animals alive and well, even in the most forlorn of cases. Her dad had reminded her that sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.
‘Aye, well, we’ll do our best by him,’ said Simon, bringing her back to the here and now.
‘Naturally.’
‘Everything else has been pretty steady. A few of the ewes and their lambs have gone back out into the fields from yesterday. They all seem fine.’
‘Right, well, I’ll let you get away.’
‘Thanks, lass. I must say I’m ready for some kip.’
‘Oh, hang on, Mum’s sent over a couple of cupcakes for you.’ Rachel dug a small package from her bag.
‘They’ll be grand with a cup of coffee when I get in. Thank Jill, won’t you?’
‘Will do and you’re welcome.’
Simon set off leaving Rachel alone with Moss and the sheep. She switched off the radio that Simon had left playing. In the daytime she liked the chat and the music, but at nightfall it was nice to appreciate the peace, interrupted now and again with the sounds of the baaing of the new lambs and the ewes.
Rachel toured the shed, making a check of the livestock. The ewes waiting to lamb were penned together in a large section and the majority seemed fine just now. There were mostly Cheviot Sheep on the farm – a hardy breed ideal for the hilly landscape. One Cheviot was showing signs of being close to giving birth. Also, one of the Texels – a larger, stocky breed of sheep that they only had a few of – was circling in a separate pen and seemed restless. Rachel would keep a close eye on those two.
The new mums and lambs in their individual pens seemed happy as Rachel made her way around the shed. She checked the teats of number 98 – there was still no milk coming on the one side. She’d make up the evening feed soon and help these two new lambs out, as well as bottle-feed the three smaller pet lambs – including the famous Pete – then she’d need to fill the teat trough for the four others that were bigger.
After doing the feeds and a further check of the sheep, Rachel settled down on a straw bale with a warming mug of tea from her flask. There was a sense of calm in the lambing shed, especially as night began to fall, when you were the only person there. Moss settled himself at her feet. She could mull over her day, think of her plans for the coming weeks, her sketchy ideas for the farm still prominent in her mind, or try to grab a few precious moments of stillness. It had been a lovely sunny day and the evening felt mild. Spring had definitely sprung in Northumberland, which was good news for the lambing – the ewes and lambs suffered in the wet and cold, especially if the bad weather was prolonged. Memories of a recent winter that had lasted far too long came bleakly to mind, and she gave an involuntary shiver. Sometimes, in Rachel’s heart, it felt as cold as ice looking back to that time. Spring, though uplifting, could also be a bittersweet time for Rachel.
She swiftly shifted her thoughts back to the here and now and pulled out a paperback from her pocket. She settled to read for a while, losing herself in a world of tearooms and tangled love affairs. It was a pleasant escape in a world of troubles.
In the early hours of the morning, the Cheviot ewe she’d spotted earlier began to give birth; the sac was showing and the lamb presenting. Rachel watched closely. It was straightforward and the mother sheep managed well on her own – the second lamb appearing a short while after the first, and the ewe licking them clean. Both lambs were up on their legs within minutes, and soon began suckling. Nature was an amazing thing. It was still a mini miracle to Rachel every single time – watching new life blossom.
Rachel was well aware that farmers could sometimes be viewed as hard, but it was more a case of having to be practical. She cared for every single animal at the farm and its livelihood. Yes, the farm was a business, of course, and financially at times a very tough one – the animals were reared to be sold on at the end of the day – but farming was so much more than that. These sheep, their predecessors, and the small herd of cows they kept, had been here with them for many years. She was guardian of the land too. From being a little girl, this farm and its valley had a huge piece of her heart.
Rachel felt her tummy rumble as she did another tour of the animals. One Texel was still up and down and circling a bit, but nothing seemed imminent, so Rachel decided to have her sandwiches and some more hot tea. It was beginning to get chillier now, she could see her breath misting, but with her thermal layers, double socks, woollen jumper and coat, she stayed warm. She unwrapped the foil package her mum had made for her. The ham was thick and tasty and the fresh wholemeal bread was spread with a touch of honey-grain mustard. Delicious. She gave Moss a crust and sipped her tea. An owl hooted outside, then all was quiet again. The brightness of the shed a beacon in the still of the night.
An hour or so later, the Texel was beginning to show properly. She seemed agitated, not wanting to lie down for long. Rachel perched on some bales nearer to the Texel’s pen – there were just twelve of them on the farm. Two had already lambed successfully a couple of days ago and were already out in the field. Within another half hour, all the signs were pointing to an imminent birth, but she seemed to be struggling, and a panicked sheep running around with a lamb about to be born was not a good thing. Rachel put her sheep-wrestling technique into action and dived onto the back of the ewe – the Texels were a large, muscular sheep and needed some force to tackle them down to the ground. The ewe could then be turned on her side. It would make it easier for both ewe and lamb.
Damn it, Rachel was on the sheep’s back but the ewe was still fighting it, thrashing her legs about, so Rachel used an old shepherd’s tip handed down from her dad and grandad and pulled off her coat, placing it over the ewe’s head. The creature did settle somewhat, thank heavens, enough that Rachel could check her rear and see the lamb’s nose and feet there. It could well be a large lamb. The birth might just take a while, but Rachel also knew that you couldn’t afford to leave it too long without intervention.
Twenty minutes later, and nothing had changed, so Rachel attached her lambing cord and began trying to help the little creature out, heaving back against the prop of a straw bale. This was like the bloody enormous turnip of Maisy’s bedtime stories; nothing was giving, and the ewe was trying to get up again, panting and bleating. Rachel knew that the situation would soon be life-threatening for both sheep and lamb. She needed to call someone right now, someone experienced and stronger than herself. Think, think. Simon lived over fifteen minutes’ drive away. Next door was Tom’s farm – he’d no doubt be busy with his own sheep, but as he had a bigger farm she knew he had two farmhands, so one of them might well be on duty with him. With no time to waste, she pulled her mobile phone from her pocket, still trying to keep the ewe wedged to the ground as she made the call.
The dialling tone rang four or five times, then – finally – he picked up.
‘Tom.’
‘Rachel, is that you … is everything okay?’ He sounded rather bleary, he must have been sleeping.
‘Not really, I’ve a Texel in trouble. The lamb seems to be stuck.’
‘Right.’
