Southend U3A

March 2023

The Stranger - Pete Norman

I opened the gate. The field was completely empty of cattle but it had stood fallow for some time and now it was completely full of lush grass and clover and all sorts of other delicious greenery.

I walked a few yards down to the next field and stopped at the gate. It is now that the real fun begins.

When they saw me standing there, there was a pronounced movement across towards the gate, as if by osmosis but when the largest cow forced her way through the herd, scattering the rest before her, I flung the gate open and then stepped behind it, out of harm’s way.

Bella came through the gate like a thing possessed and the remainder of the herd stampeded after her. They all knew their way to the next field and could manage that simple task without any external help – which made my job easier and a whole lot safer.

The herd hit the field like a tsunami, spreading out, dancing, leaping for joy but in a few short minutes a calm settled as they bent their necks and began to feast.

I closed the gate and walked back again but the sight of the hedgerow along the top of the field stopped me – it was daunting. The government were offering an incentive to farmers to restore and manage hedgerows in an effort to protect wildlife – an admirable sentiment and one with which I wholly agreed – however, I wished that the financial incentive was just a little more encouraging.

I had a little time to spare so I walked along the hedge-line, working out which bits needed doing and what could safely be left as it was . . . but, a few yards ahead, I saw it. Those bloody fly tippers had been at it again! As I got closer it looked like a large heap of old clothing . . . but then the heap moved. I stopped dead. A large pair of boots appeared, followed by a pair of stained black trousers and a huge grey trench coat.

‘What the hell do you think you are doing here?’ I demanded.

A tired old face, mostly covered in ragged hair, looked back at me. ‘Is it that hard for you to work out that I’m resting?’

I snapped, ‘Don’t be facetious. What I want to know is why you chose to rest on this particular bit of land – on my private land.’

He smiled. ‘Well, perhaps I’m just been admiring your herd.’

I raised my voice. ‘I want you to go. Just go, will you?’

He didn’t move. Instead, he said, ‘Everyone thinks a cow is just some dumb animal that stands in the middle of the field, chews grass, shits and belches methane.’ With a deep groan he levered himself up into a sitting position and then dragged himself to his feet. ‘That’s exactly what I used to think but that isn’t so, is it? A cow is a clever animal. This herd has got a definite leader – the alpha – the ‘she who must be obeyed.’

I took a step back as he rambled on. It had taken me completely by surprise that he actually might know something about farming.

‘You see, you rotate their pastures every few weeks, so they gets the best grass – and they know that you do it – and they wait for it and when they think the day is getting near, they watch you like a hawk. But they can’t see your calendar, can they and they don’t know the exact day when it’s going to happen. But when you’ve opened the other gate as well as this one, now they know, do you see? . . . and that big cow, she makes a run for it and they all follow.’

I was now completely out of my comfort zone. He seemed to have a very rustic view on life – but he also seemed to know cows.

‘And when they started off, I hid – just like you were hiding behind your gate. Now, I’ll bet you love your ladies and I bet they love you in some strange bovine way but you always have to be careful around them, because half a ton of Holstein Friesian can do an awful lot of damage.’

I had heard enough – I smiled in defeat. ‘Her name is Bella and, yes, she’s the ‘alpha’. She’s usually as good as gold but if you cross her, then Bella turns into Bella-donna! . . . Now, when did you last eat?’

He shrugged, ‘Was it yesterday? Or the day before? . . . I don’t remember.’

I gestured towards the gate. ‘Then how does cottage pie and a cold beer sound to you?’

His face lit up and he followed me back along the track towards the house.

Strangely enough, when we reached the farmhouse door he hesitated. I invited him inside but he shook his head. ‘That barn looks comfortable enough for me. I’ll eat there . . . if it pleases you.’

Well, it did not really please me, as I wanted to glean a little more about this strange man, so I worked the idea back on him. I collected two plates and two cans and then joined him in the barn. Strangely enough that compromise did seem acceptable to him.

He said, ‘You can keep your beer – the Adam’s ale in that there water tap will do me just fine.’ I said that he seemed to know a bit about cows and through a mouthful of cottage pie he said, ‘When I was a kid, I used to help them bring in the spuds and all sorts of other stuff like that, and I got cash in hand. But then I moved away and got a proper job . . .’ He paused for a moment as if the memory was painful. ‘But that never worked out, did it? . . . nothing ever seemed to work out.’

I didn’t know quite how to answer that one. ‘So, have you been on the streets long?’

He paused his chewing and stared me directly in the eye. ‘There’s some things you shouldn’t ever ask a man.’

It was a shot across the bows – it seemed as if he had more baggage from his past life than he carried around with him. He was, however, quite happy to reminisce about his farming days – limited though his experience appeared to be. However, if this was a game then I was more than happy to play it, and play it we did for some time – I would open up a subject in conversation and he would fill the next half hour with a measured and surprisingly knowledgeable response.

He never mentioned schooling but I suspect that he was educated at the University of life . . . however, it seemed as if life had done him precious few favours.

He never gave away much about his past personal life, indeed, the only personal information I was able to prize from him was his name – if Ted really was his name – which I was never quite sure.

Now, if I had to be brutally honest, I neither needed, nor, realistically, could afford to take anyone on – this was indeed a one-man farm – but at times, life could be hectic and it was always very lonely and I was quite warming to this enigmatic stranger. He was pleasant and entertaining company and surely a little extra cost was not really going to break the bank.

I put the proposition to him and told him that I would pay him for his labour. However, he simply shrugged. ‘What would I do with money? This barn’s comfortable and I’m happy to do some jobs for you . . . if there’s food in it.’

I protested – but to no avail – however, I wasn’t having any of that. I told him that I would pay him anyway and that whatever he chose to with it was entirely up to him.

I never regretted my decision. He worked hard on the hedgerow and at the end of every day I had to prize him away for something to eat. He did a splendid job but when it was finished, I decided to coax him into the milking shed. At first, he was not very comfortable with being so close to these huge animals but, shrewdly, he first made a great fuss of Bella and, when he had gained her trust, she was like a puppy dog to him and the rest just fell into line. In the end, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He told me that making all these new friends gave him a purpose in life.

Time passed and every day I took him his food and every week I gave him an envelope with his wages in . . . and every week he tucked the envelope with the others between two hay bales. I just left him to it - it was entirely his own choice.

I suppose 4 or 5 months had passed – I wasn’t really counting – when I took him his favourite breakfast: marmite on toast . . . but the barn was empty. I looked around but there was no sign of him anywhere – apart from the fields there is nowhere much to hide. I was a bit concerned, I wondered if he had had an accident – that’s always possible on a farm – but when the day came to a close, I still had not found him.

For days I struggled with the extra workload, even though it was only what I had been used to doing before Ted had come but eventually life reverted back to normal.

It was on a Monday morning, several weeks later and it was time to rotate the field again. I opened the gate and waited, as usual, behind it for the tsunami to pass safely past. I don’t know why I looked along the edge of the field – maybe it was just the memory of the day I first met Ted – but I could see that there was something there, under the bushes – it looked like a pile of old clothing.

I grinned. ‘Well, I’m buggered!’ I hurried up the hedgerow towards it and the heap moved. A large pair of boots appeared, followed by a pair of stained black trousers and a huge grey trench coat.

Then a face appeared – but it was not Ted’s face, this one was a good 20 years his junior and a good foot shorter.

He gave me an embarrassed smile and said, ‘I was just watching your cows.’

It took a few seconds for me to gather my thoughts but in the end, I simply said, ‘When did you last eat?’

Bill – which may or may not be his name – gravitated naturally into the barn and a little while later, I carried across two plates of cottage pie. As I put the plate down, he reached over and pulled out a sheaf of envelopes from between the hay bales – one of which had a few banknotes clearly visible. He held out the envelopes to me. ‘These ain’t mine.’

I stared at him, open mouthed. For someone with absolutely nothing in life the contents of those envelopes must have seemed like a fortune but, instead, he was doing the honest thing. My brain was spinning, on one hand he could surely use the money and on the other it didn’t belong to me to give. I took them from him and saw that on the top envelope, in an unsteady hand, was scrawled a single word: ‘THANKS’.

I choked back the emotion and whispered, ‘Bill, if you ever do see Ted again, tell him he’s always welcome here and that his money is waiting for him.’