Chapter 5 #2
‘So, how about you, are you taking part in the competition, or just here rolling tyres?’ asked Eliza, thinking if so this was going to be a very easy competition to judge.
‘I’m here to plough – and roll the odd tyre when required.
In fact, I better get going. I need to check on the newborns before I hop on board.
Nice to see you, Eliza. I’m sure I’ll catch you around.
’ And with that he carried on rolling his massive tractor tyre down the field, past a row of old vintage pick-up trucks, his muscles rippling with the exertion.
If there was a farmer calendar being shot, Eliza decided he would definitely be December with those muscles.
Eliza went over to join her fellow judges who were getting themselves ready as more and more people continued to fill the field. ‘Eliza, over here,’ she heard Bill shout. ‘If you’re quick, I can give you a lesson on what it is you’re meant to be judging before we start.’
‘Thanks, Bill, that would be useful! The last thing I need is to make any faux pas on my first big day out!’
‘It’s really very simple – you’re looking for well cut, uniform straight furrows.
It’s really all about the general appearance – each farmer should plough eleven or twelve well packed furrows with no holes.
That’s it! Although the number of furrows they plough really depends on the tractor they’re driving .
. . and, of course, just because they start well doesn’t mean they end well.
Keep an eye out for mistakes in the middle! ’
‘Okay, that sounds simple enough to me, I think – so I’m literally judging farmers on their abilities to drive in a straight line.’
‘In a nutshell, yes, although many of these old boys spend hours practising and perfecting their furrowing skills, so there’s a lot of technique involved in it.
They do it for the enjoyment, the pride of having their name etched on the plaque if they get placed, and the hope of winning the ￡200 prize money to spend at the pub!
And of course, don’t forget, this is only the regionals, the winner from here will go on to the nationals. ’
‘Got it,’ said Eliza, amazed that there were nationals for ploughing in a straight line. ‘I can’t believe this is such a big scene! I’m sure we could make a much bigger event of this if we tried.’
‘Aaah,’ sighed Bill, shaking his head, ‘but then it would lose its magic. This is one of the few wonderful traditions left in the countryside.’
Looking around again Eliza could see what he meant. ‘I get it, there’s something wonderfully raw about all of this. But tell me, Bill, before we start, who should I have my money on?’
Bill let out a laugh, his eyes lighting up as he stroked his beard with his finger and thumb.
‘Well now, old Charlie Dick from up the road, he’s held the title for a while.
He’s the one with the red Ferguson with blue wheels.
Nothing he likes more than to plough a furrow, but he must be eighty by now, so maybe it’ll be someone else’s crown today – or he’ll win one of the smaller prizes.
But we all love to see him win because he just enjoys it so much. ’
‘Okay, so Charlie is the man to beat! It looks like there are about twenty tractors lined up today – would it be cheating if I just chose the best-looking and did it that way?’
‘Well now, Eliza, that depends entirely on whether you’re talking about the tractor or the driver!’
And with that, he started walking towards the other three judges, with Eliza smiling to herself as she followed behind.
It wasn’t long before all the farmers had started ploughing their lines in an array of beautifully coloured tractors, although it appeared to Eliza that some had broken down already, and the tool sets were being put to work.
Set against the fresh blue sky, it was England delivering the most perfect spring day.
She was loving wandering around the half-ploughed fields with the boys chattering away, notebooks out as they inspected the furrows.
Eliza on the other hand was desperately trying to make intelligent-sounding observations, while keeping a keen eye out for Luke.
Bill whispered to her, ‘So, young lady, who’s your favourite so far?
Anyone that you’ve seen ploughing the perfect furrow? ’
Eliza, who felt he was definitely the one most in the know, hesitated a little before replying, ‘Well, not yet, Bill, but we haven’t even made it to the top of the hill.
And they do all plough quite slowly . . .
apart from maybe that yellow one I spy in the distance who seems to be moving at speed! ’
‘Ah, yes, the young buck Luke – thinks speed is the name of the game, always likes to go as fast as he can to show the old boys up. I’ve been telling him for years it’s not all about finishing first!’
Eliza, sensing an opportunity to learn more about him, laughed. ‘Always the young ones, Bill!’ Lowering her voice so Tom Stanley, who Dan had introduced her to briefly before they’d begun their inspection walk, wouldn’t hear, she whispered, ‘So have you known Luke all his life?’
‘Since the day he was born! Tom and I have been friends since school, we all grew up around here, so I’ve watched Luke try to change the world and earn his fortune since the day he could talk.
He’s quite the lad. And the ladies love him .
. . though none have caught him yet. He’s not too interested in settling down is our Luke, not any .
. . well, anyway, I bet by the time we get up to where he is there will be a row of fillies lining up purely to watch him plough! ’
Eliza’s heart sank at the prospect of all the competition – so Bella hadn’t been lying at all. Not that Eliza was blind, a man like that, and single to boot, of course there was competition.
Tom, who was still very handsome for a man in his late sixties, chirped in, ‘Did I hear my son’s name?’
Eliza felt herself blush all over as Bill chuckled replying, ‘Yes, Eliza, was admiring his speed out there. I was about to say good luck trying to catch that one; he’s not just fast, he’s not interested.’
They both laughed, and Eliza looked away towards Dan who was flirting with a small group of what Eliza assumed were the ‘widowed ladies’ Bella had mentioned.
Tom followed her gaze and sighed. ‘Well, at least Luke isn’t in his forties yet. I still have hope someone will convince him to walk down the aisle, and he doesn’t end up an old-age player like Dan.’
‘I heard that!’ shouted Dan, and they all laughed.
Well, maybe it is just the challenge I need, thought Eliza to herself.
Hiding a secret smile, she took at peek at Jean Pierre’s notes and had to choke back a laugh.
He’d written them in the most chaotic way possible: straight line, not so straight, a little hole in the furrow, too slow, but she found herself really enjoying his and all the boys’ company.
It didn’t take them too long to make their way to the top field, where a few of the spectators, mainly female, of course, had gathered to watch the eye-catching yellow Ferguson 57.
It seemed to her that this was so far the most beautifully ploughed field, but just as Bill had predicted, it was very likely her opinion was skewed by the endless fantasies she’d had about the driver the last few nights.
‘Luke, over here,’ shouted his father. Luke looked up, gave a little wave, and continued.
‘He ploughs well, Tom,’ Dan observed. ‘I think he might finally be reaching his peak! Eliza, what do you think? You’ve been keeping very quiet.’
Eliza giggled. ‘Well, I love the colour yellow, so I’m going to vote for anyone who drives a yellow tractor. And I think I’ve seen three. So there’s my podium!’
‘That is one way of judging it, I suppose,’ remarked Bill glibly, ‘but let’s not let the farmers who’ve invested months of practice hear that!’
Once they had seen enough, the judges headed back to the tent to deliberate.
There were five awards to be allocated, with the main one going to Ben Wright, the farmer whose tractor the boys had all seemed to love, squeezing out poor Charlie in those last crucial seconds.
And it was decided that Luke would be awarded the best plough in a vintage tractor.
‘We can’t actually ever let him win,’ Bill confided to Eliza in a hushed voice. ‘That would be seen as favouritism. But he was without doubt the best today, even if he only does it to make his father proud.’
With Nancy due any moment, Eliza had to make her apologies and miss out on a pint of cider and a ploughman’s at the pub. And not a moment too soon, as when she pulled into Willow Cottage she saw a familiar figure sitting on the doorstep.
‘Oh, my fucking God! Nancy! What are you doing here? You’re early!’
‘Well, I was desperate to escape my screaming toddler and my husband offered to start Daddy daycare early, so here I am – thought I needed to check up and see what my best friend was up to – and also, it’s never too early for a glass of fizz, is it?
’ she squealed, pulling out a bottle of champagne from her bag.
‘Never! Please tell me you’ve only just arrived!’
‘Literally five minutes ago, and every second of silence in my life is a treat, so shut up and open the door to this sanctuary.’
‘Ta-dah!’ announced Eliza, as she opened the door.
Undoubtedly, the best thing about her little cottage was that when you opened the heavy and often temperamental front door it looked straight through to a beautiful view of the fields and river below.
She was still struck by it every time she walked in.
‘Wow, okay, I’m impressed! Look at that view – holy shit, this is so grown up!
You can’t live here alone, you’re but a mere child!
’ Nancy said, shooting her a quick concerned look, before putting her bags down on the kitchen table.
‘You look good though, Liza. Really good. The country life suits you!’