'Fidget' - Virginia Pope

The aims of writing ‘Fidget’, to entertain and educate. To encourage parents to share this read with their children, to open possibilities of exploring the natural world together, for its benefit and theirs. To whet the appetite of children hungry for more word power. To set an example of kindness with threads of it running throughout the story.

Mary was tired of looking out at a rectangle of grass, edged with sickly old rose bushes, she struck upon the idea of somehow turning that space into all the places she loved to visit when she was younger. With the help of everyone at Berry Farm – mountain, moorland, meadow, pond, wetlands and wayside were made to scale and planted with their corresponding flowers. Now the magic would begin, and sure enough the birds, insects and small mammals quickly set up home there.

The story begins one Autumn with some unusual animals, about 15 centimetres high, being blown into the garden.

‘Spinning and whizzing over the orchard, the whirlwind finally fizzled out in the walled garden. The leaves it had picked up along the way fluttered to the ground and from under them three tiny ponies struggled to their feet. The buffeted arched door swung itself shut, closing with a sharp click, it spooked the ponies, they made for cover under some nearby dried bent bracken fronds.’

Meet the ponies, Rocky the stallion, Cora his mare, and Fidget their young filly. Fidget is missing the other youngsters from her herd, she is bored, sees little danger in anything, with her inquisitive nature getting her into all sorts of sticky situations. Follow their lives in the garden through the seasons. Drought, danger, storms, hiding from humans, the big freeze, famine, frolics and fun! All the while they hear the call of the wild pressing them to return to their homeland, but will they ever find a way out of the walled garden…

Let the magic begin………..

Whirlwind

Spinning and whizzing over the orchard, the whirlwind finally fizzled out in the walled garden. The leaves it had picked up along the way fluttered to the ground and from under them three tiny ponies struggled to their feet. The buffeted arched door swung itself shut, closing with a sharp click, it spooked the ponies, they made for cover under some nearby dried bent bracken fronds.

Rocky a bay stallion, his coat as shiny as any conker, was ready for fight or flight, his ears twitched this way and that at the slightest sound. Cora a grey mare stood close by, signs of the stressful journey showing in dark patches of sweat breaking out at the base of her ears and down her neck. The third pony, young Fidget, was excited, ready to explore. Rocky sensing this stepped in front of her keeping her in her place. Cora, ears flat back swished her tail at Fidget, warning her to stay right there until it was safe to venture out.

All was quiet, tension lifting, the ponies began to nibble the grass close to them, Fidget’s absent-minded nibbling took her further and further away from the others. The light was fading, the temperature dropping, she was in for a scolding for wandering so far away. To redeem herself, she thought to find a sheltered place for them all to spend the night, cheered on by the thought of how pleased they would be with her.

At the top of a grassy slope, sheltered by the garden wall, stood an apple tree whose leaves had fallen like a duvet beneath it. Ideal thought Fidget. On hearing snuffling and seeing some movement in the leaves, out of curiosity she lowered her nose, something pricked her soft muzzle, up shot her head, alarmed she high tailed it away calling for the others. Rocky wasn’t far off, he went to investigate, pawing at the leaves he struck out dislodging something, it was hard to tell what in the dimpsy, down the slope it rolled and into a ditch, he watched for a while; as nothing stirred, they did settle under the tree that night. They were tired after their unexpected journey, falling into a deep sleep, they did not see the barn owl flying low over them on silent wing, but the barn owl had seen them.

Rocky, awake at dawn, yawned, stretched out a hind leg balletic style, shook out his long wavy mane, and set off in search of a drink. He would follow the ditch and look out for who or what had rolled into it the previous evening. It was not long before all became clear. Slowly clambering out of the ditch onto dry land, a bit muddy, a bit sleepy, a lot alarmed at the sight of Rocky again, a timid hedgehog, prickles being its only defence, curled up into a spikey ball once more. Rocky waited quietly. Time went by, he would try communicating with the hedgehog, he would like somehow to convince her she was in no danger from him, he was sorry for knocking her out of the leaves, for disturbing her sleep, he hoped he hadn’t woken her from hibernation. He would never had done it if he had known it was a hedgehog, he should have thought more carefully before striking out .He would defend his daughter Fidget, whose calls of terror had led him to act swiftly and deftly, she was very young, highly strung but would no doubt calm down a bit in time, she was a nice little pony at heart. The stillness of Rocky, the quiet sound of him, the kindness shining out of his beautiful eyes, steadied the beating heart of the hedgehog. Trusting of him, interested to deduce more about the newcomers, she tentatively uncurled, revealing a brown pointed furry face, with black nose and black twinkly eyes. She indicated that she hadn’t been hurt, just frightened, she was feeling sleepy and would begin hibernation right away. But not in that leafy pile. The winter rains and frosts would rot it down and then where would she be, asleep without a roof over her. Last night she had been looking for something to eat and often searched under leaves where tasty insects liked to hide. More relaxed now she went on to judge what Rocky was, how he came to be in the walled garden, to guess, how long had he been there, how many of them were there? She thought he did look like horses she had seen out in the field, but curiously she had never seen any so small. She had got into the garden through a missing brick block at the bottom of the wall, there was only one of her there, hedgehogs lived singly until they met up with others in the Spring. Tiring then, she started to walk away towards a pile of rocks.

Fidget burst onto the scene, she wanted to know what her father was watching, she followed his gaze snorting. Rocky moved Infront of her stamping a foot, if she made a commotion now, the hedgehog may well roll up again and get stuck in the opening to the safety of her rock cave, where she meant to sleep that winter, they mustn’t startle her again.

Rocky called Fidget to go along with him, she did gladly, she liked to be with her father. It felt safe and he showed her exciting new things. She wouldn’t forget about the hedgehog in the log pile she would go and look another time for herself, be sure of that.

Drinking water

In search of a drink, the ponies instinctively followed the muddy ditch that carried away excess water from the top of the hill. Rocky hesitated, sniffed the air and then was off at a trot, Fidget sniffed too, yes water and nearby! A perfectly circular pond lay ahead, they hadn’t seen one like that before, not in nature. Cora had got there before them, Rocky whickered to her, how beautiful she looked with her arched neck stretched out to drink, her long-lashed eyes closed in enjoyment of that cool liquid refreshed by recent rainfall. Rocky stepped beside her and drank too, then they fell to an affectionate greeting nibbling each other’s necks. Fidget was in high spirits galloping around and around the pond, kicking up sand that lay around it, skidding to a halt, sending more into the still clear depths of the pond, she watched it floating down, until her eyes met with the wide eyes of a big bull frog, statue still he was. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, he was there to guard his family home, if anything happened to him, another bull frog would make it theirs. Fidget wanted him to blink, to move, she dipped her muzzle into the pond right above her nostrils and blew out bubbles, the frog did not move.

The ditch spilled out near the pond, which over time had created a marshland. Fidget wondered if there were any frogs in there, they liked damp places. It was good fun to stalk them and make them hop and leap. Squelching along in the sodden moss-topped mud she stopped here and there to search the rough grasses and reeds that towered above her. All this time she was moving further away from firm ground and nearer the treacherous water swollen peat. Before she knew it the earth beneath her was moving, alarmed she made to make a hasty retreat, but her legs were stuck in the bog. The poor little pony struggled and fought to try and set them free, each time it felt as if her legs were being sucked deeper into the mire. Fidget was exhausted and frightened, head bowed, ears down she became still, she had given up. Like a bolt from the blue something silvery white was rushing at her, red eyed, lips curled back to show yellowing teeth ready to bite, with a last huge effort her legs pulled free she struggled back onto dry land. What a sad spectacle she made standing swaying there wet with sweat, muddy from the tips of her ears to the soles of her hooves, mane and tail bedraggled, sides heaving from all the effort and trembling with fatigue. Cora kept her close, licking her, making her feel safe. Cora it was who had flown at her pulling that terrible face, who would have nipped her if she had had to, anything to prompt her to make another effort to be free.

Eventually the trembling subsided, Fidget started to shiver, time to get moving, get warm, fill up with grass and have a sleep under the apple tree with her parents looking over her.

Frogs do like wet places but not during the freezing winter months. The bullfrog’s family had already burrowed down into an old mole hill near their pond where they would stay until Spring. Fidget decided she wouldn’t go in search of frogs again, nor chase nor tease them.

Exploring pastures new

The ponies, more settled now, would graze further afield each day, learning their new territory. Although it wasn’t the sweetest grass, Rocky always ate as close as he dared to the wall without arousing suspicion, he didn’t want to worry the others, to set hares running. Firstly, a stallion pony must be on the lookout for other stallion ponies, who would try and usurp them. Secondly, however Utopian a home, it’s important to wild ponies to be free, not walled in. A hedgehog had entered the garden via a hole created by a missing brick block, Rocky needed to find that hole to see if ponies could get through it too, but, search as he might he had yet to discover any opening. There was something and it had made him feel that his search was perhaps futile, a patch of ground had been disturbed, behind it a brick block freshly cemented into the base of the old wall.

Cora was happiest on the moorland, picking about the whortleberry bushes and rubbing on the woody heather stems, it felt familiar, like home. If only she could find them a better place to spend the night everything would be perfect. The first sharp frost had knocked the last of the leaves off the apple tree, heavy rainfall, decaying leaves, and their constant use of that space making it soggy underfoot, had made it uncomfortable and unhealthy. It wasn’t good to have wet feet all the time, Cora especially knew that to be true, she was grey she had sensitive pink skin, her heels would crack and become sore quite easily, she must take care of herself, especially now.

Granite rocks had been gathered at the top of the moor and piled high into a tor, the mare, seeing a possible solution sure footedly climbed onto a lower ledge, it had a flat rock protruding above it and plenty of space for the three of them in between, it offered dry feet, dry backs, and shelter from the north wind. Perfect. Cora was now content.

Everything was new and exciting to Fidget ,she was busy exploring, she hadn’t got into any more trouble except for a brief time when she had tunnelled into a big bank of periwinkle, the runners underneath had got all tangled up into knots around her fetlocks, the more she stamped about trying to extricate herself the tighter it held on, in the end she bit through the ends and was free again. The periwinkle, gorse, ivy, heather, and reeds remained green, all the other plants had died down dull brown, lying there under heavy grey skies. Fidget was fed up there was nothing and nobody, well there were a few birds about. A regular visitor to the garden was a blackbird who came to drink from the pond, look for worms in the grass, take berries off the ivy, and peck at the rose hips, that straggled over the wall, but there was no getting close to birds, they just flew away.

The ponies found the rock ledge an agreeable place to spend the nights, it provided excellent shelter, but because of the hard granite they tended to sleep on their feet. Whilst the others dozed, Fidget was transfixed by a slice of light showing through a crack in the rocks, it couldn’t be moonlight, it was all wrong for moonlight, moonlight does not switch on and then off. Every night there it was, on, off, on, in the daytime, frustratingly, there was nothing to see.

Rocky and Cora were concerned about their daughter, she seemed quiet, withdrawn, she must be missing their herd, their lear, she was spending the days alone, it was often dark before she joined them back at the rock ledge, they must help her get back to her usual carefree self.

Fidget had been following the direction that she thought the light was coming from, eventually she had found it. At the very end of the garden was a wide road, or path to you and I, at the other side of it stood Mary’s cottage. A light came on in the afternoons as the natural light began to fade, revealing the silhouette of a human being behind the windowpane. Fidget wasn’t as surprised as you may think, she had been watching that window most days lately, but during bright daylight it was difficult, with the reflections on the glass, to be sure what or who was at the other side, maybe watching her. So intent was her vigil she would lose track of time, once when the light had come on, she could barely drag herself away, making her very late for getting back to the others at the rock, when she finally turned up, she didn’t return the greetings of Rocky and Cora, she didn’t really hear them, her thoughts were so far away.

Now it seemed wherever she grazed Rocky and Cora grazed, there wasn’t any sweet grass left by the path, they persuaded her away from there to richer pickings, she had lost weight with all the looking and not much eating, she was hungry so followed along. One afternoon, full and faced with a wide expanse of flat cropped grass in front of them, a playful wind started up making the ponies feel as giddy as goats, throwing caution to that wind they raced each other to the other side of the garden, they had been fearful of visiting there before as there was no cover. Holding their heads high, snorting and prancing about, they eyed each other wildly and set off squealing all the way back again. They each felt better for that, and Fidget forgot about the window and the winter for a while.

A cold snap

The ponies were accustomed to wintry weather, they knew to stand in the lee of the tor to shelter from the worst of it, they had good thick coats. Often the grass was frozen, it seemed particularly sweet then as they chewed on it, the crystals melting inside their warm mouths. They still drank at Frogs’ Pond, early in the morning it often had a thin layer of ice covering the shady side, but that was of no consequence to them.

One day there was a spiteful chill in the air, the temperature plummeted further during the night, the ponies grouped tight together to keep warm, little clouds of breath pouring out of wide nostrils into the darkness. The whiskers on their muzzles froze taut. At dawn they started to move around, the ground was concrete hard, there would be no pulling grass that day. Moving to the top of their moor they gingerly picked at gorse prickles and very carefully chewed them until they softened and could be swallowed, placating the gnawing pain in their empty stomachs. They made their way to Frogs ‘pond to find it had frozen right over, the ice was thick, it would not thaw that day, or any day soon. Silence fell around the three like a cold dark cloak.

Fidget was the first to move, setting off in the direction of the moorland hoping the others would follow, but they just stood looking downcast. The young pony went back and nudged her mother on the shoulder and walked around her father and walked away again, she was relieved to hear at last the dull thud of hooves on the rock-hard ground behind her. They followed her to the end of the garden, becoming more alert when their daughter didn’t stop, but just continued walking across the big path. They faltered at the edge to witness Fidget’s front legs slide away from under her as she fell on a sheet of black ice with a bump, she made an ungainly recovery returning with renewed resolve. Rocky and Cora weren’t for going any further until they knew the reason why. Fidget explained that she had heard gurgling, gushing, running water nearby, the stark facts were, one, they had to find water, or they would perish, two, Cora was in foal, she must not slip, there was nothing for it, at the risk of being seen they would have to cross the path further up, where it was clear of ice. The ponies made a dash for it at the gallop, hearts racing and flanks heaving, they slipped into the shadow of two gas cylinders the other side to get their breath and bearings.

The light went on in Mary’s room, she was sitting near the window talking to a boy, they were looking out at the garden, she was pointing. The ponies kept perfectly still, was Cora’s grey coat showing up, was she pointing at them. Minutes passed, the boy had gone, Mary continued to look out at the garden.

Footsteps! It was the boy, he made for the pile of terracotta garden pots and their saucers lying higgledy piggledy on the path, he was trying to separate them but try as he might he could not, they were stuck frozen to each other and the ground, lucky then for the snails, who were sticking to the inside of them for their winter shelter! The boy went to the potting shed door, opened it, and disappeared inside. The ponies agreed now would be a suitable time go, but the sight and sound of water running down a pipe and bursting into a nearby drain kept them rooted to the spot. The water was cloudy, it smelled of lavender and soon disappeared, leaving the last drop to stick on to the icicle hanging there, lengthening its nose. The ponies were thoroughly disenchanted with the whole thing and Joe was back laying a large shallow dish on the ground in front of Mary’s window, they watched while he went to fetch a bucket and could barely believe their eyes when he poured water from it into the dish; whilst he was saying goodbye to Mary at her door, the ponies trotted over to the dish and drank deeply. The blackbird joined them, when he had quenched his thirst, he got all excited, ruffled his feathers, and dipped his face in and out of the water, a whole host of noisy sparrows arrived, the ponies turned for home.

The cold snap continued, Joe refilled the dish twice a day, the ponies were never far away and were quick to drink before the water froze over again. Whether Mary ever saw them or not is hard to tell.

Meet the Brimblecombes

The boy who went into the garden and fetched the dish from the shed to fill it with water for the birds, was Joe Brimblecombe. The Brimblecome family are Mary’s neighbours, they made her wild garden for her, and are part of this story, so a good time to pause and find out a bit about them if you would like to.

Bill Brimblecombe,farmer,husband to Saoirse ( sur sha), adoptive father of Joe. Foster father. Hardworking, kind, patient, with a good sense of fun, always ready to help others. Does not tolerate bullying or cruelty of any kind. Mindful of making the best habitat possible to encourage and nurture nature on his land.

Saoirse Brimblecombe, wife of Bill, adoptive mother of Joe, foster mother. Irish, fair skinned, green eyed, red headed. Quick tempered, but kind-hearted, warm, friendly. Believes in strong family values.

Joe Brimblecombe adopted son of Bill and Saoirse Brimblecombe. British mixed race, brown skinned, brown eyed, curly haired. Fourteen and a half, growing fast, infectious smile, happy go lucky, kind, gentle, likes carpentry and football, has a keen interest in nature.

Molly Brimblecombe, brown roan jenny donkey, given to Mary by Bill on their wedding day, in case she felt homesick when she moved to England. Molly is single minded, well-tempered, is free to roam where she wishes, can often be found in Berry kitchen, loved by all the children.

Lad Brimblecombe black and white border collie, keen while working the sheep, kind and loving to everyone.

The Brimblecombe family live in Berry Farmhouse, an ancient, thatched Devon long house on a mixed farm, their nearest neighbour being Mary. Centuries ago, these houses joined human and animal dwelling together. It must have kept them all warmer and made it easier for the farmer to tend his animals in the winter, the winters then were very much colder, harder. It’s different now, each having their separate residences.

Immediately Saoirse saw Berry farmhouse it looked like home, the perfect place where she and Bill could rear their five, six, seven children, however many came along. After time it was clear that they would not be blessed with children. They were very sad. Bill buried himself in his work, Saoirse became thin and pale and distant. Being neighbourly they often called in on Mary to see if she was alright. Mary was perfectly alright; she could tell that they were not. One day she broached the subject of fostering children to Bill, he warmed to the idea immediately, carefully he mentioned it to Saoirse and saw a little life return into her eyes. That was quite a few years ago. Bill and Saoirse updated the long room and divided it into four welcoming, cosy bedrooms for children who would benefit from a stable and loving home with them for a while. Everything settled into place, Bill and Saoirse were busy and cheerful again, the fostering was rewarding work for Saoirse, and Bill was proud of his productive farm. Partners Lee and Mark lived in the farm cottage; Lee helped Saoirse to run the home, he liked singing and playing his guitar. Mark being disabled, went to work every day in his wheelchair, usually accompanied by Molly, he kept mints in his pocket for her you see! Mark looked after the farm accounts. He was also particularly good at reading the children stories. Finally, Big Fred came up from the village most days to help Bill with the heavy work and tractor driving, he had a ready smile to brighten everyone’s day. All in all, Berry had a very good team.

Bill and Saoirse were to know complete happiness, it came along all wrapped up with a two-week-old baby who had been placed with them. There was an instant connection between the three of them, a natural rapport. Adoption was applied for and granted; Berry Farm lit up with the joy of it all. The baby was named Joe, when the farm had busy times like harvest Saoirse would leave him with Mary for the day, she was like a grandmother to him, their friendship grew as Joe did. Joe went to tea there sometimes after school and Mary would listen to his reading and help him with his arithmetic. When the time came for him to have a bicycle, he would ride down to her on that, Lad would go with him; in the summer holidays when he wasn’t helping his parents he would go to Mary’s with Molly, and she would enjoy helping to keep the grass down on the lawn.

Joe was eight when Mary drew out a map of the wild garden that she longed for, he was there when she asked Bill if he could make it for her, he could, he would in the Spring after the lambing season, when the lawn had dried up from the winter rains before growing hard in the summer sun. There were several meetings about the garden during the long dark winter ,the different soil types they would need to encourage a good diversity of plants, a tree or two for shade ,for the birds to nest in ,for Spring blossom for the bees to pollinate for the fruit that would follow , what kind of rocks for the tor how many, where to find a half barrel for the pond, the making of lists of wildlife plug plants and meadow grass seed. Joe got immersed in it all.

The day the garden was born, Fred and Bill with guidance from Saoirse, who held the map, dug out turves of grass turned them upside down one on top of another creating a hill and higher ground for Dartmoor, the rain would run down from the hill and saturate the places they had taken the turves from, creating marsh land and bog. Joe bought Molly who pulled her cart holding tools and the granite for the tor, he unloaded the cart and took her home to Lee and Ken who were looking after everything, returning with Lad. Lad was tired after the lambing season and was getting older now, so he was pleased to go indoors and rest, Mary was glad of his company while she watched her dream coming true. The windows were wide open she was ready with soft drinks, tea, sandwiches, and cake for when anyone needed a break. The last of the daylight saw Joe topping out the tor with its final stone.

The garden rested, the next weekend, Joe and his mother broadcast the wildflower /grass seed mix and planted all the new plants. The air was warm, soft rain fell and things began to stir, seeds popped up, the plants got their roots down firmly into the ground and began to grow more leaves on stronger stems. Everyone had to keep off the new garden, including Molly and Lad, to give it time to establish. Joe kept an eye on things, it was doing well, he found little thumb print bowls in the new heather bed soil where the sparrows had been dusting themselves, he watched the blackbird drinking and bathing on a slightly submerged rock in the pond, just as Joe had hoped he would. Afterall, Mary and he had spent the winter thinking carefully how to arrange a habitat that would bring as much wildlife to thrive there as possible. Sure enough, as the garden stabilized and matured, it did come, all the different shapes and sizes and species of it, and it did thrive. That was six years ago, Joe cares for the garden, learning new things about nature all the time, it is a constant joy to him and Mary.

A time for giving.

As soon as the temperature began to rise the thaw began, the ponies were drinking again from frogs’ pond and grazing in their meadow nearby. The three of them were avoiding the top of the moor where it edged on to the big path, for what with the boy coming to clean and fill the big plant pot saucer for the birds, The postman calling and the ever-increasing parcel deliveries, it was too stressful up there having to be on high alert to danger all the time. Thank goodness they did decide to stay well away, for, feeling sorry for the birds during the bitter cold Mary had been putting bread, cake crumbs and other scraps out for them on her windowsill. A few of the cheekiest sparrows were brave enough to get that close to the window but flew off again if they could see Mary watching them. What scraps they left behind in their hurry to get away fell to the ground, becoming damp, mouldy and rancid. Thank goodness too for the gorse which had sustained the ponies when all else was frozen, if they had been driven by sheer hunger to those scraps, they would have got colic and mostly likely died. A young rat it was who was clearing up the fallen food, and where one rat ventures more will follow. Of course, Mary had no idea what was going on out there in the darkness, she would have been alarmed if she had, no one wants rats close by. Rats carry Weil’s disease which we humans can catch. It is pronounced Vile’s disease and vile it is, being quite as dangerous to us as colic is to horses. Someone who did know what was going on was Barn Owl, she waited patiently for her chance to catch that rat, and she did, she ate him for supper!

It was the week before Christmas, everyone was preparing for the big day. The sounds of a saw scratching backwards and forwards came from Bill’s workroom, Joe was in there making a bird table for Mary, Lad by his side. Fred was chopping logs and stacking them in a lean to by the kitchen door. Inside the large warm kitchen Mark was showing two children how make bird cakes ready to hang from the new bird feeder. The children, Anna six and her brother Artem four, couldn’t speak English, but they were getting on fine, fingers sticky as they rubbed lard into the wild bird seed that Bill grew on his farm. Next pressing the mixture into cookie cutters, Artem chose star shapes and Katya hearts. Mark gave them small pieces of a drinking straw he had cut up, they pushed them into the middle of the bird treats and Katya fed long pieces of red and white striped baker’s twine through the tubes for hangers. The two children, Ukrainian refugees, had fled from the Ukraine with their mother Katya Kovalenko, to England to escape the most terrible bombardments Russia was raining down on their homeland. Their father had stayed behind to fight for their country, to keep it free from tyranny and a fit place for them to return to one day. Katya was bent over an exquisite piece of embroidery, she wanted to make something special for Bill and Saoirse to thank them for sharing their home with her and the children, they were very lucky to be at Berry Farm. Lee was fixing a new string on his guitar, he heard the garden gate go click, looking up he saw Molly pulling a small spruce tree up the path, striking up a chord he began singing ‘Little Donkey’, a shiver of excitement ran through the room, Christmas was in the air.

Christmas Eve had arrived, time for a visit to Mary. Molly had her baskets filled with the treats to hang on the bird feeder. Katya had copied the idea of brushing boots from a horse magazine for Molly and sewn small bells along them, each step on to the ground resonated with a tinkle tinkle. Lad wore a red bow around his neck. Bill and Joe were carrying the bird feeder, Saoirse carrying more presents, Artem was holding his mother’s hand whilst skipping along and Anna was holding the rope to Molly’s halter, she felt very proud of that, the donkey was kind, taking extra small steps to keep in sync with the child’s tentative ones. Mary hadn’t met the Kovalenkos before and Saoirse was rather hoping that the time it took to go in and get all the introductions done would give Bill and Joe enough leeway to set up the bird table without Mary noticing their absence; while Mary was busy making Katya and her children feel at home, Saoirse moved quickly around and behind Mary saying’ I think the curtains could be shut now it will make everything more cosy’ and pulled them quickly together before there was time for any discussion on the matter. Outside, the bird table was in a good place to be seen from the window and hung on it were half coconuts, bird cakes, two string bags of peanuts, an apple and scattered on the floor plenty of mealworms for everyone.

Saoirse noticed Mary looking around for her boys, as she called them, she gestured with an arm towards the door saying ’They’re after taking off their boots so they are’ then right on queue they appeared and joined in the party.

Outside, the ponies were standing under the cover of brown and broken ferns near the edge of the meadow, they would stay put until all the people had gone and everything was quiet again. Molly had been left to wander in the garden, she was having a good look around and was just taking a snatch of grass when into her line of vision trotted a very small black pony, her mother had told her about leprechauns when she was a foal, but had never said anything about them having horses , it was all too much, she threw back her head laying long ears down her neck, drew in a big breath ‘Eeeeee’ and let out a most terrible and deafening ‘awwww’,the startled ponies bolted, they made for the wall and ran along beside it tripping on the now hardened cement that had dropped off the builder’s trowel , getting their tails pulled and ripped by snatching bramble prickles, they ran until there was nowhere else to go, they were at the end of a tunnel of overarching ivy and dormant wild raspberry canes, they were breathing hard and trembling. The braying continued loud and urgent, everyone could hear it and thought it amusing except for Joe who recognised the note of real fear in it, he ran to the door, ignoring his boots standing there, and raced to help the donkey. Joe talked to Molly and reassuringly stroked her neck and rubbed the base of her ears, she took a last ‘ee’ in and let it out again in a long mournful ‘aww’. The boy searched the garden but couldn’t find anything that could have upset Molly in this way, he picked up her rope and went to move back to the path with her, nothing happened, her pointed hooves were planted firmly in the turf. Joe never laughed at donkeys, and he never called them stubborn, he knew they needed time to think things through, Molly would follow him when she was ready. He went back to the others , it was noisy there with everyone chattering, Artem overexcited was running around everyone’s’ legs, then jumping up and down on a big armchair, Saoirse looking wild eyed telling him to ‘stop acting the maggot,’ he didn’t know what that meant, but he did recognise the tone in her voice, so got off the chair and went and stood by his mother. Time to go, Molly was waiting for them, the church bells were ringing, and a few lazy flakes of snow swirled around them. Merry Christmas everyone!

Hope in adversity!

The new year began grey, gloomy, and bland. Snow still lay on the ground, it was wet good for nothing snow, it was no good for making snowballs, building snowmen, or using a sledge, nor did it gladden the eye dusting every tree branch, topping every wall sparkling white or cladding the rooftops. It was just an inconvenience, getting in everyone’s way, dampening their spirits with its looking so grubby and drab. The freezing air refused to let it go, holding it tight in its icy grip.

Mary was expecting a gas delivery, she looked forward to seeing Tom who had been bringing it to her for many years, she would make him a nice cup of tea, it was a bitterly cold morning, they would catch up on their news. Payment for him lay ready on the table, she was off the generation that felt uncertain about online banking, if it had to be done Mark would come and do that for her, otherwise she settled her bills with money in envelopes. The familiar sound of the lorry’s brakes going on, the cutting out of the engine and the slam of the cab door said that Tom had arrived. Or was it Tom, he never made all that noise, whoever it was unloading the cylinder was doing it with aggression, bang, slam, curse, out with the sack trucks, rattle, shove, oath. Pushing down the path, purple in the face, cold swollen fingers, complaining, complaining about the countryside.’ I hate this stupid place, gas in bottles I ask you, if you can’t go on the mains like everyone else then you shouldn’t have gas, burn some of your stupid trees, or grass, you’ve got enough of that, that’s all you have got cows, grass and animals that sting and bite , I hate animals, I hate grass……….’and on he grumbled. The big bad-tempered man reached forward and dragged the empty cylinder away from the house wall, making scrape marks in the gravel, Fidget’s hiding place was gone, there she stood for all to see. The man didn’t lose one second in lifting his foot and catching her on the end of his toe kicking her up into the air, it was such a powerful kick that it carried her right over the path and dropped her flat onto the icy snow-covered meadow. It knocked all the air out of her, she was winded; satisfied that he had dealt with the horrible animal whatever it was, he went to switch the old cylinder for a new, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the black tail lying in the snow, twitch. ‘I’m not ‘avin that you little blighter’ he threatened, striding towards the pony body, one more step and the next one would have been his full weight crashing down on top of Fidget. From the depth of his grimy pocket his mobile shrilled, it was the ringing tone of

The one person he was afraid of, his wife, he stopped in his tracks and fished it out, ‘Hello dear’ he tried, all that achieved was a torrent of accusations and resentment. He tried sorry dear, yes dear, no dear, meekly he agreed to all her demands, to get the shopping, to take his dirty overalls and boots off before he went in her nice clean house, to be home in time for his tea, it would be on the table, if it got cold, that was up to him. She repeated everything louder and louder, her voice grating he held the phone away from his ear, two blue tits feeding on the bird table were alarmed at the screeching and flew away! By the end of the call, he was so frazzled he forgot about the body in the snow, he even forgot to change the gas cylinder, he got all the way back to the lorry before he realised, he had not finished the job there.

Mary had been on the telephone as well, she had been speaking to Bill, she wanted to pay for her gas, but she was too frightened to open the door to that surly man, she told Bill what he was like and how he had been behaving. Bill reassured her, leave it to him, it was market day, and he was in town, the Calor gas main office was only just around the corner, he would settle the account and call in on the way home and she could give her envelope to him instead. Mary felt much better for talking to Bill, but still couldn’t get the image of that man kicking something into the air, out of her mind. Could it have been one of the animals she had seen drinking from the bird dish during the cold snap? How she would like to be able to tell Bill and Joe about that. Mary so far had kept her thoughts of three miniature ponies to herself, it seemed too farfetched, she didn’t want anyone thinking she was becoming too old and confused to live alone in her cottage any longer, if only her eyesight was a bit sharper, she could be surer of what she had seen. If only Mary had confided in Joe, he would have been very excited and told her of the piles of tiny droppings he had seen, and the hoof prints in the snow that looked the same shape as a pony’s. He was busy looking through books in the library and searching the internet, trying to identify any creature they might belong to, maybe it was something that everyone thought extinct or maybe something new and rare, in any case, he, Joe would find out!

Meanwhile, Bill had settled Mary’s invoice, while also mentioning the incident at Mary’s cottage to the gas merchant, he would not have her in any distress and would they send a different driver or stick to Tom in the future. On the way back to the lorry park Bill passed a charity shop and sitting in the window were a pair of small RSPB binoculars, he went in and bought them for Mary, they would put the smile back on her face….and they did!

Outside in the garden Rocky had grave misgivings about the length of time Fidget had been away from him and Cora, he whinnied for her in a high-pitched far-reaching call, herd instinct should prompt an answering call from her, there was no answer. Rocky trotted around looking in all their familiar places, there was no sign of Fidget, he became agitated, he tried the other side of the garden and then galloped the full length of the meadow, finally skidding to a halt at the sight of Fidget lying very still on the icy snow. He moved around her prodding her with his nose, whickering to her, he neighed to Cora, between them they persuaded the dazed little pony to stand, she didn’t seem to know where she was, with one walking each side of her they escorted her back to the track they had made over time between the moorland and the wayside and wall. Rocky kept her walking up and down the path to get her warm and well again. Cora watched on, her family, what was happening to them, Rocky looked run up he was so stressy these days, living on his nerves, Fidget was never content, she was missing ponies of her own age, she mustn’t keep having these accidents. Cora walked slowly to the meadow and scraped at the snow to reveal some grass, for days they had had to live like this, she had to admit to being downhearted too, but tried not to let it show, someone must remain steady. She looked down at the grass and looked again, there with its slimline leaves and dainty head hanging was a shy and perfect snowdrop, the very sight of it banished her sadness and filled her with renewed hope, everything would be alright, Spring was on the way. She could swear the catkins on the hazel were growing longer and look at blackbird over there, he had been fighting young black bird to hold on to his territory ever since she and the others had arrived in the garden, except today it wasn’t just a warning to be off, it was building up to be a proper fight as they chased each other back and forth over the snow. Could it be that the tips of the grass were tasting even sweeter now, she was certain they were!

Floods and frogs

There was one blue sky day before the rain came, for Mary to try out her binoculars. She trained them on the bird table. On this cold clear day so many birds were keen to get to the food, the list was long, Mary was enthralled by the minute detail she could observe them in. There were coal tits, blue tits, great tits, a little gang of long tailed tits, wagtails, sparrows, the robin and the blackbird and last of all bouncing along and landing heavily on the net of peanuts, a great spotted woodpecker, his size scared the smaller birds away, but the sunlight shining on the scarlet feathers underneath his tail, did make a spectacular sight. Mary moved the focusing wheel in the centre of the binoculars, training them on the tall teasels at the very end of the garden and watched five gold finches perched on top of the swaying spiky cones, dipping down into each floret case to tweak out the seeds inside them. Her arms were feeling quite heavy by then, but before she put the binoculars down, she searched around the garden focusing in by the big saucer of water, but there was nothing unusual to be seen.

Fidget was drinking out of Frogs’ Pond, her last mouthful didn’t taste as nice as the first, she opened her eyes and noted that the water had been stirred up, it had turned cloudy and muddy. Yes, it was bull frog immerging from his winter rest underneath the silt, he had given a big kick off with long hind legs to send himself up to the top of the pond. His eyes shone beadily into Fidget’s; his nose felt the cold air, he wouldn’t get right out of the pond just now he thought. Fidget didn’t quite know what to do, her heart was beating faster, at last some life returning to the garden. She went back more times than she needed to drink that day, to watch the frog moving around the barrel through weed and on rocks below.

The temperature rose during the night, heavy rain set in. It rained all day, the ponies grazed as usual taking shelter now and again for a rest. They had good thick coats, made up of two layers, the guard hairs on the top helping the rainwater run off their backs, keeping the warmer layer dry underneath. They didn’t have need of frequent visits to frogs’ pond as the grass was so wet, but imagine Fidget’s surprise when she went there one morning to be confronted with a pond full to bursting with frogs spawn, she had never seen anything like it, huge mounds of it one on top of the other, she had to push it away a bit to make a space to drink from, it was a very funny feeling on her nose.

The rain didn’t let up for over a week. The final downpour left the garden flooded, most of the frogs’ spawn was washed out of the pond and sat in puddles by the arched door. It wouldn’t come to anything when the puddles dried up, it needed to be in water for when the tadpoles hatched. The rat feasted on it and as the water level dropped so did the blackbirds and thrushes. Two newts were eating some of the lumps remaining in the pond, but they didn’t eat it all, they would like to dine on some tadpoles soon and would leave some to grow into frogs, to make them more meals for next year! The birds hadn’t been feeding from the table they had been sitting inside the hedges trying to keep dry and conserve their energy. The snowdrops were bedraggled and past their best, a bumblebee had been pollinating them, but the rough weather had driven it back to its nest.

A few breezy days and a bit of pale wintry sunshine helped to dry up the worst of the floods on the meadow, Joe thought to take Anna and Artem there to show them the frogs’ spawn. Artem burst into the garden running, arms out to his side, making whiny high-pitched screams, he was the fighter jet dropping big bombs, keeping his tato (dad) safe. Anna helped Joe with more bird food for the table and they looked around for a seaside bucket in the shed that some children had left there last summer, they found it under an empty sack, yes, it was just the thing to take some spawn back to Berry so the children could watch the black dot embryos develop into tadpoles.

Artem had finished his warring and was poking around in the heather bed, he had seen something moving in there ,he was curious to know what, he got down on his knees and tried pushing a plant apart, but it had woody and brittle stems, he did get it apart enough for a split second to see the three ponies hiding in there , he determinedly drove a hand through the rough unforgiving branches and felt something hairy , went to make a grab for it and received a sharp and awful pain for his troubles, he pulled his hand back, it was already red and starting to swell, he got to his feet and tried to stop the tears in his eyes from running down his face, his father would not want him to cry , he sniffed and wiped his face on the sleeve of his coat, he would feel better when he had shown someone. Joe and Anna were busy scooping up the odd bits of spawn that were marooned on the grass, Artem wanted to do that to, the jelly cooled his hot hand. Joe noticed the red skin and swelling and asked the little boy what had happened, he showed Joe the place in the heather bed, Joe couldn’t see anything and thought it was probably a sting from a sleepy bee. To distract the children and end their garden visit on a better note Joe pointed out the waggly yellow catkins on the hazel tree and asked if they could find any flowers in the garden, they found some sweet violet flowers peeping through the grass on the wayside and Anna was very excited to see the glossy yellow faces of the celandine, she tried to explain to Joe that they had those growing at home, she liked yellow flowers. Anna had been attending the village school and was already able to make herself, albeit falteringly, understood in English. The national flower of the Ukraine was the sunflower she told Joe proudly, he suggested they could grow some in big pots here in the garden for Mary to see and to provide food for the birds. Anna was delighted, could they plant seeds now, it was a bit early yet, Joe told her, there could still be the danger of frost, but it wouldn’t be long to wait.

The next morning a flock of starlings flew into the garden, they systematically pierced the whole meadow with their sharp investigating beaks looking for grubs and then as noisily and colourfully as they had arrived, they flew away again. At Berry it was breakfast time, Joe sitting next to Artem noticed that the mark on his hand was already blue with bruising, it was the shape Joe thought, of a horse’s hoof.

Storm Horrible and Hedgehog

Everyone was quiet in Berry kitchen while Bill listened to the weather forecast, his heart sank as a yellow warning was given out, so, another destructive storm heading their way, with winds reaching a possible 90 mph. They, together with drought, were the hall marks of climate change and were happening all over the world, causing chaos and hardship wherever they struck. Successful farming is largely weather dependant, it was so erratic lately it was hard to know how to manage everything for the best. The fields were too wet to put the animals out or take a tractor on. Berry was getting behind with its yearly schedule. The name of the storm was given out, Saoirse thought it feeble and renamed it Storm Horrible. She was putting new batteries into a handy torch and asked Joe if he would pop it into Mary’s on the way home from college, explaining,’ just in case of a power cut you see, only in case, there probably won’t be one , we don’t want to be getting her all worried now, but she can’t be left in the dark at all ,at all, do you see….’ When Joe delivered the torch, he also lay the bird table down on the grass, he wasn’t sure if his carpentry would hold it together if it got blown over!

Storm horrible, was horrible, it raged and roared all through the night, battering everything in its path, the chimneys moaned and groaned about it, keeping everyone awake and anxious. The ponies leant tight into the southwest wall; the worst of the weather blew well above their heads. The wall offered good protection to all it enclosed, anything above and beyond it suffered the full force of the gale, it snapped a big branch off the apple tree, leaving it propped up against the wall, with the tips of its branches now resting in the grass. Joe was shocked and saddened when he discovered it in the morning, he recorded the ugly sight on his phone to show Bill later. He looked around at the garden, was there anything else damaged. He noticed that the bits of wool he had picked off the fences where the sheep had been rubbing their backs at Berry, had disappeared from where he had placed them around the garden, that wouldn’t be the wind blowing it away, and smiled, the birds must be building their nests, the wild daffodils that had spread into a carpet under the hazel were still standing up straight, their yellow buds would soon open up into pretty trumpet shaped flowers. In frogs’ pond the newly formed tadpoles were eating their way out of their jelly cases. Satisfied that everything was OK Joe turned away from the garden and went to get his bike that he had left propped up against the potting shed wall. His mind was focused now on getting back to Berry to help put the hen house roof to rights before Saoirse’s hens wanted to go to roost. She had found them that morning, still inside their house looking rather nonplussed at a grey scudding sky, their roof having taken off with the wind, landing some way away under the washing line! Three very relieved ponies watched the figure of Joe recede into the distance, they hadn’t heard him cycle in earlier, leaving no time for them to get properly out of sight. It was proving to be a difficult time of year for hiding, last year’s cover had died right down now and the new was only just starting to come up.

Hedgehog had been awake for two days, snuffling about and filling up with food and getting strong again, the call to be free and find a mate were now her driving force, she must find the hole where she had come into the garden, she kept following the wall around, hesitating where she was sure the gap had been, worrying and following it around again. Rocky heard the scratching of her nails on the wall and saw her standing on her legs searching around for the gap. Hedgehog sensed Rocky was nearby, so got down, but she didn’t roll into a ball, but went towards him, Rocky kept edging away, Hedgehog kept moving forwards, until in this way, he had guided her to the fallen branch. He nudged it with his nose and gently nudged it again. Hedgehog was watching, Rocky stepped back, she clambered up onto it, looked him long in the eye and then got down again and moved away into the gathering dusk.

Hedgehog went back to that branch when complete darkness had fallen, she did climb all the way up the branch, to the top of the wall, there was nothing to break her fall the other side, with a brave little heart full of courage, she rolled herself up tight and let herself go. Hedgehog quills are remarkably resilient to buckling or breaking, and after a few minutes, recovering from the shock of it all unrolled herself and ran into the night.

One-way humans communicate is through speech, each species has its own ways of connecting with its own kind and just sometimes one of a species may be able to understand another from a completely different one and form a close bond. Horse and Hedgehog were a rare example of this, you can’t explain it, it just happens sometimes. The next day, Rocky sensed with sadness for him and gladness for her, that Hedgehog had managed to break free.

Bill looked at Joe’s photo of the fallen branch, it was a pity, a nice shaped tree like that , he would ask Big Fred to stop by the other side of the wall and make the broken jagged tear left on the tree into a smooth slanting cut with his chain saw, the rain would run off it then instead of into the cut and help prevent any rot and disease getting into the tree. Joe wondered about the branch; Bill was sure Big Fred would log it up in whatever lengths Joe would like, but it would be best to wait until things had dried up a bit , it would make an awful mess in the garden if they did it now, and didn’t the blackbird nest in the ivy right behind that tree, it wouldn’t be right to disturb the hen while she was sitting on her eggs. Joe wondered what Bill had meant by saying that Big Fred would cut any lengths he liked, did Bill mean the right size to fit into Molly’s cart or baskets for taking them back to Berry to burn on the fire? Bill explained that Joe might like to pile them up somewhere in the garden providing a good place for insects and grubs to live, and for frogs to hide in during the winter, bedroom, and larder in one! Or maybe make a hedgehog hideaway, but it would have in that case to be made very stable. Something for Joe to think about while the garden was drying out and consider what size you would like the logs for building.

A hedgehog in the garden, Joe was very taken up with the idea sitting at the computer, reading all he could about log piles and hedgehog houses. It was quite a long branch he thought, so there would be plenty of logs, he would make a hedgehog house and then camouflage it with logs on top and a pile around it, then there would be no danger of any logs falling on the hedgehog and plenty of places for insects and frogs to go into as well. He rang Mary to see what she would think, his enthusiasm was infectious, she couldn’t wait to see his hedgehog house, that wouldn’t be long to wait he would start making it the very next day!

Easter

Easter day was dawning, Bill and Saoirse were tip toeing their way to the kitchen, trying not to disturb the rest of the household. Saoirse pulled the kettle over to the hottest plate on the range, to bring it to the boil. Bill stood at the window trying to gauge the day’s weather, but he soon moved away from there, quietly opening the door to the outside, beckoning Saoirse to join him. She stood beside him in the porch, he put an arm around her shoulder and held the other up pointing to the sky above the barn. Saoirse heard the excited chattering of swallows before she saw five of them swoop into view and then circle above them. The moment every year that you waited anxiously for, as the calendar moved on from March to April, the moment that made you truly glad to be there. Bill and Saoirse stood there watching more swallows arriving for a full ten minutes before going back into the house.

For a few years it had become evident that swallow numbers were on the decline, last Summer they had not stayed long enough to raise a second brood. Climate change had started to upset the usual pattern of most living things. They had wondered if the muddy gateways drying hard so soon after all the heavy rain, made making new nests nigh impossible. Bill had made his mind up to making sure it didn’t happen again, if everyone took it in turns to spill a bucket of wastewater in the same place now and again, that should really help. As they enjoyed their cup of tea, they marvelled, as they did every year, at how those swallow wings propelled their small and beautiful bodies eight thousand miles from Southern Africa to the United Kingdom, and then all the way back again. They must be flying for a full six weeks with just short rests to feed, returning to their same family nesting sites each year. Bill couldn’t understand why human beings had got so reliant on satellite navigation. They were losing the ability to get themselves anywhere without it, he wondered between bird and man who was in fact the real bird brain! Saoirse said it was all very fine and well to be appreciating the birds, but if they didn’t get going with the chores then the day would be running away from them, it would to be sure, and how then would they catch up with it at all at all.

There were hot cross buns for breakfast on good Friday but on Sunday, everyone sat down to try some traditional Eastertime, Ukrainian paska bread that Katya had made. It proved to be very popular, it was sweet and light, full of currants, with a lemon icing on top scattered with sprinkles. Berry Farm was bustling with activity that morning, everyone was busy, Joe and Anna had been grooming Molly, Molly was off to church soon to be part of the morning service. Anna learnt at school that a donkey had carried Jesus to Jerusalem and that he had bestowed a cross on its back in recognition of the burden it had born. Molly had a fine cross over her shoulders and down her back, Anna saw it when she was lifted up on her for a ride. Molly stood still for Anna while she painted her hooves with oil to make them smart and shiny, Joe changed her rope halter for the best occasions leather one, it’s brass buckles and browband glinted playfully in the strong sunlight. Now Joe and Molly had to wash and put on their Sunday best as well, they were soon ready to go. Katya tied the ribbons in Anna’s hair. All set, they moved off, Katya waved them goodbye with one hand whilst holding Artem’s hand with the other. It was then it struck Artem that he was being left behind. He screamed for his mother to let go of his hand whilst she tried to guide him back to the house, tried to cajole him with the idea of them having their own special outing, he could take paska bread with him if he liked, she just needed to collect a basket from the kitchen. Anything she tried made him scream louder, he was now lying on the dusty path kicking out at nothing. Katya let go of his hand, Lad heard the commotion and went up to the boy wagging his tail a little and moving forward to give him a lick, he was rudely pushed away. Now Katya was angry, stern words were pouring out in her native tongue, anyone hearing them didn’t know exactly what they were but could guess, Artem surprised, stopped wailing, he had never heard his mother sound so cross. Mark was making his way up the path, they could hear the click of brakes as he stopped to make a fuss of Lad, who was now uncertain as to whether he should wag his tail or not. Mark suggested that Artem stay with him, while Katya and Lad went across to the sheltered corner field. The banks there were generously dotted with primroses, plenty there for a posy or two to bring back to decorate the tables this Easter day. She had been working hard, it was tiring looking after the children on her own, she should take her time and enjoy the warm sun that was unfurling the new leaves on the trees, listen to the bird song, and watch the lambs skipping about.

Saoirse took Artem off for a bath and soon had him out again and in his clean clothes, he was subdued, but Saoirse said he was altogether a much nicer boy now his bad temper had gone out with the bath water, a semblance of a smile showed at the corners of his mouth. Mark told him all about the Easter Bunny, while Saoirse and Lee carried another table into the kitchen and hunted around for an extra five chairs of one sort and another to put around it.

Bill was next for a scrub and change of clothes, he didn’t waste much time getting ready, then flew out of the door again on his way to collect Mary. Saoirse called after him, she was holding up a paper bag, he had forgotten the Easter eggs that he was going to hide around the wild garden for the children. The ponies were at Frogs’ Pond when they heard Bill arriving. The tadpoles were free of their jelly cases now, busy wriggle swimming all over the pond, it was difficult to take a drink without fear of swallowing one of them too! Rocky led the others along the top of the ditch towards the newly flowering Jack by the hedge, they were just high enough to hide behind, and good camouflage for Cora. They waited. Bill had promised Joe to fill the bird saucer with clean water, so he would do that, hide the eggs and then take Mary back with him to Berry. He was quite surprised to see how long the grass had grown, he really should mow some narrow paths in the meadow for everyone to use, no excuse then for trampling over the wildflowers that the bees, butterflies, and other flying insects, would soon be relying upon. Nor disturb all the wildlife that was now emerging. No time like the present, he would do it straight away. Out came the lawn mower from the potting shed, Bill pulled the starter cord and was very gratified to hear the engine connect and come to life at the very first attempt. All the ponies forgot themselves and bolted right out into the open, they had never heard such a noise or in such proximity. They galloped up the path and stood at the top, stiff, arch necked, nostrils flared, snorting. Bill was leaning over the machine adjusting the air flow mixture screw, listening carefully until he was satisfied that the engine was running smoothly. Mary was watching Bill from her window; she was looking forward to seeing where he would hide the chocolate eggs. Bill set off cutting a path through the grass from the potting shed towards the house and then in a wide curve back towards the arched gate, branching off to describe a circle around the hazel and then on towards the apple tree. The ponies were growing more accustomed to it, but not much, they must go for cover, the nearest was the arching raspberry and convolvulus tunnel, the ivy roof held good, but the sides were sinking as the new growth was rising, it wasn’t ideal, but they hadn’t much choice unless they crossed the path and went behind the gas cylinders, they shuffled into the undergrowth.

Rocky sensed that all was not well with Cora, she was showing signs of real trauma, he fussed around which made the others move too, waited until she was standing tight to the wall, then stood in front of her with Fidget flanking her other side, they would protect her. But they were having trouble keeping themselves anchored as the mower proceeded on its monstrous way right up the path. The wheels of the mower were no more than fifteen centimetres from the ponies, the noise of the engine was deafening, Cora whinnied loud and long, a primeval call, telling of desperation, of defeat.

The cutting blades were picking up sand and bits of gravel amongst the grass and spitting them out furiously in every direction, Fidget felt as if her legs were being shot at, with those fierce stinging pains jabbing into them. She involuntarily held her tail tight between her hind legs as her back bunched up, taut with tension. Bill silenced the engine then, he pulled the mower back down the path, started it once more and drove it back towards the potting shed. Rocky and Fidget relaxed, but poor Cora wasn’t a white bright beauty anymore, her coat stuck together in clumps of dirty grey sweat, her eyes looked sunken, ears drooping, head carriage low, resigned to whatever her fate. She needed to be encouraged out of there into the fresh air and sunlight, but that had to wait until the coast was clear.

Bill was looking around wondering where to put the grass clippings, but there was no compost heap, he would take them home, he had an empty fertiliser bag in the boot of his car, that would do to put them in. He would never leave grass cuttings lying around where Molly might pick them up. Ingested grass clippings are fatal to equines. That done and the mower blades wiped clean, Bill set about hiding the brightly coloured, foil wrapped eggs, the sun was getting very strong he hoped it wouldn’t melt the chocolate. There were six eggs, he hid two in the potting shed, one behind the gas cylinders, one under the pile of upturned terracotta pots, one behind the apple tree, the last one he rolled towards the place where the ponies were hiding, it stopped on a bumpy bit of ground just leaving enough of itself showing for sharp little eyes to see. Bill steered Mary slowly and carefully down the path, asking her had she heard the skylarks singing this morning, the ponies couldn’t hear her reply, they were too far away, they must be at the car by now, sure enough they soon heard the car start and pull away up the hill to Berry farmhouse.

All was quiet, the ponies feeling safe, went quite openly to the birds’ water dish for a long drink, then tried out the newly cut path into the meadow. They found some fresh clover to eat, which was very pleasurably moorish, it made the ponies feel sleepy. Cora too tired to resist, folded her legs and lay down on the grass and was sound asleep in a matter of seconds, letting out a few tuneful snores onto the peaceful garden air. Rocky and Fidget dozed on their feet close by.

You might be wondering how Anna, Joe and Molly were getting on at the church. They had taken a short cut through two Berry fields; they had been able to hear the rumpus that Artem was kicking up. Joe was sorry for the boy, he felt responsible for the upset. He didn’t think he could manage Molly, Anna and Artem. It was usually just him with Molly and he was only too aware of the seriousness of the occasion. They had been to this special service for a few years now and Molly knew the ropes, she always felt exalted to have a large congregation there especially to worship her, to sing to her, and behaved accordingly in queenly like fashion, never braying and managing to stand perfectly still at the altar end of the church for nearly a whole hour. But you never know with animals, Molly had a mind of her own. All things considered Joe thought it safe enough to offer Anna the chance of leading the donkey, she was very good with Molly and Molly was very good to her.

So, with Anna leading Molly and Joe close behind them they entered the church to the first Alleluia of the Easter hymn Jesus Christ is risen today. They processed down the aisle at a genteel pace keeping their line perfectly straight. An elderly gentleman dropped his hymn sheet and Joe bent to pick it up from the floor and hand it back to him. In that very moment he missed seeing the slight change in Molly’s ears, to notice where she was looking and why. The tugging from Anna’s small arms on the rope was ineffectual, he was too late to intervene, quarry in sight, the donkey was already drifting across the aisle towards it. Standing short and stout with the air of disdain and disapproval about her as usual, was Daisy Endacott. Old age was playing tricks on her vocal chords, out poured the hymn in wavery quavery squeaks from the mean turned down mouth. Daisy was wearing the same straw hat that she wore every Easter Sunday, the rim was adorned with artificial handmade poppies and stems of corn, with each quiver of a quaver, the ears of the corn shook enticingly at Molly. She was very near now, and her prehensile lip was at the ready to grab a mouthful of those golden oats, Joe hadn’t time to think, except which would be the worst, him getting the hat or Molly, he should get it out of her reach, he made a lunge for it, grabbed the back of the hat pushing it forwards and down over Daisy’s face, while elbowing Molly back out of the way at the same time. All this to a timely and resounding’ Aaaaaaleluuuia’, after the line Our salvation procured. The congregation had witnessed the whole sketch play out, their singing was interspersed with snorts and wheezy gasps of restrained laughter, shoulders were shaking, handkerchiefs were wiping tears of mirth off contorted faces. Joe had pushed the hat harder than he had realised down over Daisy’s eyes, it took a moment or two for her to remove, place back on her head and generally regain some composure. Joe would never know why Molly hadn’t dug her hooves in at that moment to award herself the luxury of thinking things through, she must have been so surprised by the speed of events and the unusual way Joe was behaving that she just smartened up her pace instead, arriving centred and picturesque, to stand angelically at the end of the aisle.

After the service Joe usually waited outside the church for those who wanted to pat the donkey, this time he thought, it would be more circumspect to just go straight home.

Soon everyone was seated around the conjoined tables in the kitchen. Big Fred and his Vera had been to church that morning, they had been two rows of pews behind Daisy, and were able to tell the tale in lively style in all detail, adding colourful embellishments, they had everyone in stitches. Saoirse thought they should spare a kind thought for the poor unhappy woman, but the usually big-hearted Bill, had been in Miss Endacott’s class at primary school, didn’t forget how she had made some Childrens’ days a misery. She could have her turn today. Molly poked her head through the open window and delivered a good long bray and earned herself an enthusiastic round of applause, which she was very pleased with!

Bill asked Katya if she would oversee the Easter egg hunt with the children, whilst he settled Mary back into her cottage, she would be tired after her outing. When they arrived there, the ponies were in amongst the heather plants rubbing their itchy backs. Their winter coats could come off now the sun was shining! Katya told the children there were three eggs each to find and to stay on the paths. Anna skipped off around the garden and didn’t take long to find the egg behind the apple tree or the one poking out of the ponies hiding place. She was concentrated on looking for specific items, so overlooked the squashed grass in the meadow covered in white hair, and the poorly disguised ponies in the heather bed. Artem who was reluctant to go poking about in the garden after hurting his hand, had a good time turning the contents of the potting shed upside down to find two eggs. Anna spotted the blue shiny paper of another egg behind the gas cylinders. Search as they might, they could not find the last egg and Bill had to show them where it was. Artem was intrigued by the snails stuck to the inside of the pots, Bill asked him not to pull them off, he would see them around the garden soon if he looked hard enough. When they arrived back at Berry, Molly and Lad were there waiting for them. Before the children climbed out of the car, Bill told them not to give any of their chocolate to Molly or Lad, however much they would like some, it would make them very ill. He went off then to check the ewes and lambs, he leant on a gate counting them and an image of Molly making a grab for Daisy Endacott’s hat crept into his mind, and he started laughing out loud. You wouldn’t need a moisture metre to see if those oats were ready to mill, what would they make, a very sour dough he thought, and started laughing again. The ewes disconcerted, stopped grazing, and lifted their heads to watch him, ‘alright sheep’ he called!

A perfect day in May

The garden was quiet, expectant, just waiting.

Saoirse had taken Joe to Ireland for his half term holiday. Mary was staying at Berry Farmhouse for a couple of days change. The bird table was not vital to the birds now, they were finding plenty to eat for themselves and the pond was full to the brim with clean sparkling water from the recent rains.

It was time.

So it was, just before the sun rose, in the soft light of dawn, that Cora gave birth to a fine colt foal. It seemed every bird in the county, led by the robins, had joined in a swelling melodious chorus to celebrate another new life.

The foal lay on the grass and Cora moved there quickly, to nuzzle him, lick him, bond them, get him dry and encourage him up on his now hardened hooves, to take a drink of her milk. His legs had been folded up inside her for eleven months, growing long and strong for this very day. Now he thrust his front legs forward and tried to stand but wobbled over. He tried a few times and then he was up on all four feet, he was soon sucking his mother’s milk. When he had taken enough, Cora moved forward to find a place for them both in the sun, it would do them good to have its warmth on their backs. It should be noted as they passed the last of the primroses, that the colt’s withers were the same height as them, that is if you could see him; he was the sort of bay, that melded in with the surroundings very well.

The foal lay down once more for a good sleep, Rocky and Fidget went to have a look at him, the mare wouldn’t let them too close, there was the warning of laid-back ears and swishing tail, her maternal instinct would be strong for a week or three, she would be very protective of her foal. Rocky and Fidget understood, for they would be too.

The garden was full of new life. The tadpoles had finished their magical metamorphosis, absorbing their tails and growing legs, spending time out of the pond, hiding in the rocks nearby and the long grasses on the marshland. No more pond weed diet, they ate insects now! The habitat had been carefully thought out for them, there was no pesticide used in the garden, so they should grow well, if the newts would allow it! There were plenty of adult frogs to entertain Fidget. Fidget had put the bleak, empty, winter months behind her, for all around her the garden was teeming with life, the grass was plentiful and sweet, she had her new glossy bright bay coat and was growing every day, and best of all she now had a brother, a companion. There were busy bees everywhere, the all-important pollinators. They were in and out of the pink and white scented blossom on the apple tree, on the dandelions, the poppies in the meadow, the forget-me-nots, the clover, and most of all amongst the carpet of heavily scented bluebells on the moor. There were honeybees there and bumble bees and solitary bees, hover flies and an early orange winged butterfly. Some solitary bees have good long tongues to get right down to the base of these bell-shaped flowers. Other bees have been seen making a hole in the bottom of the flower to just suck out the nectar, they are not pollinating, would you call them lazy bees or clever bees!

There were plenty of snails about for Artem to see next time he visited the garden, a perfect time of year for them, not too hot or too cold. The thrushes were pleased to see them, they liked to eat them. If they couldn’t break their shells, they would take them to their anvil and smash them against it. There is a flat stone near the potting shed that they use, you can see all the tell-tale broken shell discarded there.

At mid-day the blackbird sang his triumphant song loudly from the top of the television ariel on the cottage roof. He was so excited, puffed up, he scattered the customary blackbird tune with delightful, new, lively sequences of notes. Extemporization at its best, it filled the air, and the world wondered at it. He was announcing the safe hatching of his second brood of chicks!

Have you ever noticed there is an hour in the middle of summer days, most likely around 1pm, when all is still, quiet, the odd chirrup from the birds but no more than that.

The ponies were taking a nap on their feet, Cora standing over her foal, all enjoying the warmth of the sun, feeling contented. They moved around lazily all afternoon, grazing, napping, staying close together. Cora had been too big and clumsy lately to have a roll, and now she could not resist it. Over and back, over and back, legs and hooves in the air, her foal standing by, looking with perturbation at her, wondering why she was the wrong way up! She left a lot of grey hairs behind her on the squashed grass and clouds more of it fell out as she stood up and had a good shake.

As the sun was beginning to dip and hide behind the hills, the ponies moved up to the end of the meadow to catch its last rays. Fidget watched their shadows lengthen, the legs stretching longer and longer, like strange giraffes moving flatly around the grass, she didn’t shy at them, she must be getting a bit more sensible! Here and there dotted about were the small lilac pink flowers of Lady’s Smock, Milkmaid, Cuckoo flower, or what you will. Cuckoo flower for choice that day, for a cuckoo, right on queue was calling out her strange song in the valley below. A bird that gives us mixed emotions, a thrill that she has arrived safely all the long way from Africa, that confirms life continues in its usual ordered way; a chill that now she will be harassing a pair of tiny meadow pipits, to get them away from their nest. Lay her own egg there and leave. When the big egg hatches, the incumbent using its back and wings will tip out any other eggs in the nest and they will fall to the ground and break. This demanding monster with ever opened beak, will wear its diminutive foster parents out, in trying to keep up with its demands for food. The unsolved mystery remains. Why do the cuckoos who migrate to the UK, neglect to rear their own chicks.

If this foal had been a filly, would she have taken Lady or Milkmaid as her name, so many to choose from in the wild garden. Rocky followed Cora’s gaze to the edge of the moorland bog. There growing out of the damp mossy earth, delicate, pink flowers with fragmented petals, borne on slender stems, as tall as the tips of his colt’s small, curved ears, Ragged Robin. So, that was it, a fine name for a fine colt, welcome little Ragged Robin!

Poetic Justice

Summer at last! Clear blue skies, long sunny days, and a time of plenty in the wild walled garden. Joe was there to cut the meadow grass, he went into the shed to fetch the mower and hiding in the crack by the door rested a beautiful puss moth, it would emerge at dusk to feed. Joe recorded it on his phone, he was building quite a file now of the garden, as it changed each month. Anna and Artem should visit soon, they would be bound to like the nettle patch wriggling with caterpillars, there was new life to be found emerging everywhere.

The ponies grazed hard through the long gentle nights, taking lazy sleeps, during the days, stretched out on the meadow grasses in the sun. They weren’t expecting Joe, they didn’t hear him until he started the mower. They got languorously to their feet yawning; Robin had a drink of his mother’s milk. They were getting used to Joe, he moved about the garden as if he were part of it, and they were desensitised to the mower now. What they were not desensitised too was the strimmer. It started with a high-pitched whine, a long cord of nylon whipping around and around at lightning speed, flattening, destroying everything in its reach. The ponies galloped out of the long grasses, across the path and skidded across the cinquefoil, jumped over the vetch and stitchwort, weaved their way around the cow parsley stems, only to stop when they reached the garden wall and could go no further. Their rather dramatic arrival frightened a newly fledged thrush, who was waiting there, to be fed by his parents, he flapped straight out onto the path. Joe stopped the strimmer, he thought he had seen a group of animals running out of the grasses towards the path, he looked again, it was a thrush fledgling just standing there, stance of a penguin, beak still yellow at the corners and a couple of tufty baby feathers sticking up on top of his head, a comical sight. Joe smiled at it, but backed away, he didn’t want to upset the birds. He already had, by the sound of a mother wren shouting at him, she must have young on the ground as well. He put the strimmer back into the shed, he didn’t think he would use that again, shocked to think what damage he could have done to the wildlife there with it, next time he would tidy up any unwanted grass with the hand shears. He should go away now and give that thrush a chance to hide away again. Just one more moment in the garden, looking on the busy bees, enjoying the scent of the dog roses intertwined with the honeysuckle, rambling over the wall. Listening to the sound of the cuckoo’s muddled calls, remembering Big Fred’s rhyme. ‘The cuckoo comes in April, he sings his song in May, he changes his tune in the middle of June, and then he flies away!’

Joe went through the gate at Berry to be greeted by Molly and Lad, Saoirse was sitting in the shade topping and tailing a big bowl of gooseberries. Joe joined her and showed her the photo of the puss moth. He told his mother about all the new life in the garden. How the garden had finally matured, she should come and see, he would be going down again later to fill up the pond it was getting rather low and to replenish the bird dish. If he could find another in the shed, he would put that out too. It hadn’t rained for nearly three weeks and the heat was likely evaporating some of the water, the parent birds would appreciate nice clean baths. They worked so hard, and there would be more eggs laid now the nests were empty again. Had he been in to see Mary, Saoirse wanted to know. No, he thought she had been having a doze in her chair, he didn’t disturb her. They chatted on about this and that and then Saoirse, mentioned she hadn’t heard any hammering coming from the work shed for a while, did that mean he had finished making the hedgehog house? Joe turned his face away from his mother, she noticed how tense he was, how his hands were clenched into fists. ‘Or did you make a complete hames of it and give up then,’ she teased lightly, thinking that the reason for his obvious discomfort. He never liked to be beaten by anything. ‘Look at me Joe’ he turned his face to her; it was wet with tears spilling freely and silently down his cheeks.

What on earth have I unlocked there thought Saoirse, it looks as if it’s been stored up a long time, why haven’t I noticed anything wrong before. ‘No need to be upset about a hedgehog house, have you asked your daddy for a bit of help with it?’

‘No’ said Joe ‘He was busy, right in the middle of lambing, I didn’t like to. I asked Mr Osman the carpentry teacher at school and ………..’he didn’t finish, he was bent over now, hands hiding his face, his body wracked with sobs.

Saoirse waited and put her hand on his back and gave it a gentle rub, eventually the sobbing stopped, she passed him a handkerchief. ‘…………….. and that,’ sniffed Joe, ’just made everything worse.’

‘Better start from the beginning’ encouraged Saoirse.

Taking a big breath Joe recounted the miserable weeks he had been enduring at school. He has been singled out by a boy called Blake and his little gang, for no good reason that he could think of, for some persistent coercive humiliation. It had been wearing him down, but he had tried not to show it, his schoolwork seemed so hard lately, he couldn’t concentrate properly, everything was going wrong. Blake and his band seemed around every corner, ready to taunt him. ‘He’s goading me all the time. It’s as if he wants me to punch him. Then he could get me into trouble for punching him’.

‘Would you ever punch him?’ asked his mother. ‘Sometimes I feel he might drive me to do it. I manage when they sneer at me, it’s just when they bring you, dad, our home, and animals into it, I feel I may lose control and just go for him, I don’t know what I should do.’

‘Tell me all the things Blakes says to you Joe?’

‘I think it will upset you Mum’.

‘Problem shared is a problem halved. It’s a problem that needs solving, I can’t help if I only have half the facts.

‘Blake remarks on the colour of my skin, on my hair, he calls me the mongrel. He says no wonder my natural parents wanted to get rid of me as soon as I was born, as I was so ugly. No wonder the only people who would have me were Worzel Gummidge, followed around by a black and white poodle, and a red headed witch from Ireland with her dippy donkey.’

Joe drew breath and looked anxiously at his mother.

‘It’s alright son, you finish telling me everything. What an unhappy boy Blake must be, he will be needing some help and guidance, so he will.’ Inside she was hurting so much for Joe, she didn’t want to let him see, to stop him from emptying his head and his heart.’ What happened with Mr Osman then?’

‘Mr Osman gave me some ideas for making the tunnel shape to fit on the front of the hedgehog box, he said if I got stuck, to take some photos and show him the problem and we could go over it again. He was very interested in the garden project, and we had quite a long chat about it. Blake must have been listening outside the door, for as soon as I was alone again, he and his gang found me and started their chanting ‘Here comes the hedge hog, hedge hog,hedge hog. When did you last wash your spines hedgehog?’ Pointing at my hair.’ Telling sir all about our little garden, were we? Did you know hedgehog, that it’s only old ladies that really like wildflowers, are you a bit of an old lady as well as a hedgehog?’ and they all started laughing at me all over again.

The next lesson was art, it was about drawing textures. Miss Hemsley asked would everyone draw three different animal coats showing their different textures. Ten minutes later she began walking down the rows of desks looking at the drawings, there was sheep’s wool, snakeskin, tortoise shell, bird feathers, lion manes and at the back a gang of boys all drawing hedgehogs. ‘A very good idea ‘praised Miss Hemsley’ A spiny coat like that, certainly stands out as being different.’ A snigger erupted.’ Those spikes are the hedgehog’s only defence against predators, so they are important.’ ‘I know a spineless hedgehog ‘said Blake, his faithful followers, burst into laughter. ‘I very much doubt that Blake.’ ‘Yes, I do Miss, he snuffles and grunts like a pig and eats slimy slugs.’ More laughter, Miss Hemsley had lost control of the class. She clapped her hands and waited for the noise to subside.’ All of you at the back, kindly draw two more examples of animal texture, I don’t want any of them the same, so settle down to that and quickly. Blake, pick up your things and come to sit at the front where I can keep an eye on you’. Blake didn’t like that, I knew somehow, I would be the one to pay for it. Sure enough, that afternoon they followed me around the football pitch making snuffling and grunting noises and Blake spat at me, I felt his spit sliding down the back of my leg, it was disgusting, it made me feel sick. I tried to wash it off my leg by the drinking fountain, which is why I came home with the one wet sock that you asked about. ‘Mother Mary, help us’ prayed Saoirse under her breath.

Joe looked at his mother again and bit his lip. ‘Yesterday I opened my lunch box, and it was full of slugs climbing all over the sandwiches you made me.’

‘That boy,’ said Saoirse ‘while we are on animal names, is a real louse. Remember, hedgehogs eat lice for breakfast, and don’t you forget that! It must have been a nasty surprise finding those slugs.’

‘It was. Well, I didn’t mind the slugs, they were enjoying the salad leaves you put in! It was more the fact that someone had managed to find and get into my lunch box, without me knowing, that felt very creepy.’

‘Did you feel very hungry all afternoon?’

‘I didn’t feel hungry for long; I had a huge slice of cake at Mary’s!’

How on earth have you managed to cope with that nasty eejit all this time without telling anyone?’

‘The garden saves me mum. When the school bus gets to the stop in the village, I seem to be just sitting there, staring into space. The driver has to ask if I am getting off. I know I must go to see Mary and check the bird dishes; it all feels a bit automatic, but the doing of it somehow makes everything alright again. It was just when you said hedgehog house I sort of burst. I am glad I did though, there wasn’t much room inside for anymore.’

‘Well done, Joe, that was brave of you to tell me everything. I still take my problems to Mammy and Dah when I can’t work out how to deal with them. Never fails! Do you think you could manage one more week as things stand, while I discuss it with your father and put a plan in place to make everything right again? Promise to tell me every day what has happened? Say if you can’t tolerate it anymore and we will be right down to the school?’ Joe nodded. ‘Go and freshen up’, Saoirse suggested. ‘Then we’ll be after taking Lad down to visit Mary, I would like to look around that garden. Let’s stop off at the bakery and see what we can find to take with us. I am thinking chocolate eclair, what about you?’ Saoirse smiled.

Joe had found it difficult to get to sleep lately and when he did it was fitful. Now he was lying with his head on his pillow listening to the sound of his parents talking below. Mum must be telling dad about Blake. Suddenly there was a roar from his father, and his mother raising her voice back at him. ‘You can’t go to the school in the middle of the night Bill and if you go rushing down there while you’re like this, it won’t help matters.’ The voices calmed down again after that, Joe couldn’t make out any more words, just the comforting sound of the two people who loved him, talking. It reassured him, he sunk into a deep sleep.

The conversation downstairs went on for a lengthy time, and there were further protestations from Bill. Saoirse laid out her plan to set things right between the boys, she would tell Joe about it later in the week, when everything was in place. He had agreed to stick it out at school as things were for a week, on the promise that if he needed help, they, she, and Bill would go straight down and sort it out there and then. If her plan did not work, then Bill could go to the Head after that. Bill didn’t feel that happy about Saoirse’s idea, but she was very good with young people and their problems, if Joe had agreed to stick it out another week, then there weren’t any more objections he could raise.

Saoirse booked an appointment at the village hair salon, with Blake’s mother Becky. They chatted about this and that. When did they last have rain, how hot it was. Becky said she was finding working in the salon tiring, it was like being in an oven with the hairdryers busy all day and the sun beating in at the window. She was pleased to say she had this Saturday off. Saoirse asked her if she and Blake would like to come up to Berry for lunch, they could have it in the garden under the shade of the old beech tree. Becky would love the roses that were out now, and it would be nice for the boys to have a roam around the farm. Becky readily agreed, she always enjoyed her visits to Berry, it was a longtime since she had been up, yes it would certainly be good for her boy. All he did was lounge in his gaming chair staring at a screen, it was affecting his behaviour, she found him difficult to reason with. It was hard for her with his father away at sea, four months this time. She watched Saoirse leaving the salon and getting into her car, wondering how she, Becky, would persuade Blake out of that chair on Saturday, but somehow, she would.

Friday late afternoon found Saoirse telling Joe that Becky and Blake were coming to lunch the next day. Joe was incredulous, his eyes huge and troubled. Saoirse explained, difficulties mostly arose from ignorance. Blake needed to realise that the colour of your hair didn’t make you a witch, that farmers weren’t scarecrows. How wonderful the countryside was, what he was missing by staring at a screen all day. They would show him great generosity of spirit and hope that he enjoyed his visit and would see all the Brimblecombs in a better light and treat Joe with some respect from then on. Joe should think what to show him on the farm, Blake would surely like Molly and Lad, perhaps Joe should take him down to the walled garden, it ……. she never got to finish, it was all too much for Joe he scraped back his chair and was out of the door and running blindly down the path. Bill’s kind brown eyes were blazing like black coals, Saoirse had got carried away, gone too far, he ran after his son, he knew where he would be.

Joe was in the yard with Molly and Lad, he was bent over waiting for the stitch to go away after his run. He stood up when he saw Bill. ‘No’ he said ‘No no no, not Molly and Lad and not the wild garden. Blake is cruel I have seen how he treats the school cat, how he handled the little bird that flew into the classroom through an open window. You can’t make me; I won’t do it.’

‘Joe’ Bill said ‘Molly and Lad are going with Lee and Mark, Katya, and the kids down to the river for a picnic and swim tomorrow, they will be well out of harm’s way all day. And there will be no time for going to the walled garden, I promise you that! Let’s get this hedgehog house done, shall we? I must turn the small hayfield again; I’ll be a couple of hours. If you look at the back of the tractor house you’ll find an x army ammo box, it’s good and strong and will be easy to adapt, can you take it up to the work shop and get a roof on it , then I’ll be there to help with the rest and we’ll take it down to the garden before supper, OK?’ Joe turned for the tractor house, he didn’t see his father walking into Lee and Mark’s cottage, to ask them please to take Molly and Lad on their picnic tomorrow!

Saoirse made a lovely lunch for them all, the boys managed to sit far apart, Blake was sullen, condescending, Joe was just quiet. What would happen when they had finished eating. What happened was, Bill stood up, sniffed the air, and looked at the sky, the small field hay was baled now, those bales must be bought in under cover before it rained. Big Fred was having the day off he needed some help with that he said, looking at the boys. Saoirse wondered why on earth he thought there was rain on the way, but he knew best, she encouraged the boys to get going and help Bill out. The three of them walked down to the yard, Bill’s tractor and trailer was there ready and waiting. ‘Joe, can you bring your tractor as well please’ Joe looked at him quizzically, Dad never said YOUR tractor, the one he drove was known as Red.’ Hurry up then’ Bill said’ Get your tractor,’ his eyes crinkled up at the sides in a smile. Joe remembered dad had said, when his driving was good enough, he could call Red his! Bill turned to Blake, ‘you come with me Blake, hop up onto the trailer and hang on just there, it can get a bit bumpy in the gateways.’ Blake was standing in front of the tractor tyre, he hadn’t realised how huge they were, look at that tread, tractors were awesome. He got up onto the trailer, he liked being part of it, and there was Joe driving his own tractor, he wasn’t such an old lady after all.

Bill and Joe worked hard throwing the bales up onto the trailers and stacking them. Blake was slow and awkward with the bales, he didn’t have the knack of handling them, he wasn’t very fit, soon his hands were burning, he looked down and saw he had blisters coming on them, he couldn’t do any more. He felt at a bit of a loss. He felt foolish. There was nothing to be done but to stand around and wait for the others to finish. That about sums up the meaning of poetic justice!

Dog days and a field shelter

Days of drought and unrest. Dog days drive everyone to the end of their tether, not just dogs. They are uncomfortable, hard to endure, humid, and sultry, with their insufferable heat, and flies! Flies bombarding the ponies all day long. Constantly crawling biting, sucking. Eyes, ears, legs, anywhere and everywhere. Rub your face in a heather bush, stamp your feet, turn, and bite your stomach, swish your tail. Stand alongside another pony, facing their tail and they facing yours, keep swishing tails. Roll. Trot, canter, gallop away from flies, flies, flies, they’ll be there when you stop, making your life intolerable.

The best thing to do is to stay in deep shade. The ponies ran stamping into the wild raspberry and convolvulus tunnel and stood in there, but they still had to emerge for drink and food. Frog’s pond was half empty, the water was stagnant, if you peered down into it, you could see one perfect white water lily flower amidst its glossy green pads, but even that perfection was crawling with tiny black flies. Cora had been nicely camouflaged in the bog amongst the flowering cotton grasses, to take a pick or two of fresh tipped grass that managed to grow there, as the earth was still a little damp. It was no good, she was getting badly bitten. The damp places, they were the worst. The ponies had to avoid them.

All the plant matter and grasses were dried on their stems, nothing palatable to eat, but eat they had to. Dried food and no juicy grass made them very thirsty. The two bird dishes were filled twice a day, thankfully the figure was rarely at the window, a blind was firmly pulled down against the glaring heat, making it easier for them to get to a drink.

The ground was concrete hard on the top and went deep enough to have forced a mole out into the daylight to search for food. The drought had made it impossible to find and extricate worms from his deep, carefully crafted, tunnel system. His flat body lay in the grass by the potting shed. Soft velvet coat crawling with blow flies. He had died of starvation. Fidget steered clear of the flies and the smell emanating from the little corpse, as she made her single-minded way to the potting shed. She wanted shade and she wanted to get out of the flies, that was all she could think of, and trotted straight into the shed. Rocky was watching, Fidget must not go in there, what if the door was to close, then where would she be, she would be trapped in human territory. Rocky whinnied loudly, Fidget came straight out to him. It wasn’t any good in there anyway, it was right in the full sun. Hazy as the sun was, the heat in there was stifling, there were plenty of stupid flies that had got inside there, and now couldn’t seem to find their way out. Drawn to buzzing around the window, confused.

Fidget was hungry, she trotted back near the others. She couldn’t reach the tall grasses nodding their pollen laden heads, but the clever sparrows had worked out a way to. In they came, chattering, excited, they knew the grass seed treats were ripe now for them to enjoy. They flew down and landed on the top of the grass stalks, bringing them down to the ground under their weight, now they could feast. Fidget was irritated by almost anything, but especially the sparrows, she flattened her ears and showed her teeth and ran at them, they took off as one and flew away over the garden wall. Robin had been watching and made an involuntary jump when the birds flew up. He was extremely hot, his foal coat was sticking to the back of his ears, he was thirsty and hungry too, his mother didn’t seem to have as much milk for him as she used to. He tried to copy the others grazing, his legs splayed out like a giraffe, while he got used to having his mouth on the ground. He bit off a few dry mouthfuls, didn’t know what to do with them, nodding his head and spitting most of them out again.

The midges were out in force, the ponies started to trot up the path by the moorland, cantered onto the big path and then gallop blindly around the meadow to try and get rid of them. In a quiet corner was something new, a wooden something. The ponies hadn’t been close to it, they had been watching from a distance, to see if it moved, if anyone came out of it. Ponies are wary of new things, except one pony who had had enough. Fidget kept galloping and ran straight into the opening of the wooden building; she did not come out. The others went over to it and waited, and called, Fidget called back. Inside Fidget’s eyes were just getting accustomed to the dark, there was nothing to see, just an empty fly free space. The others were shaking their heads and stamping their feet, Cora was rolling, when she got up she went to find Fidget, taking Robin with her, and Rocky was obliged to follow. There was just enough space for them all, they waited until dusk before they came out into the garden again.

Joe would never know how he had saved the ponies, firstly by putting a dish with water for them when frogs pond was frozen over and now building them their own field shelter to hide away from the flies that were tormenting them.

The evening air was sultry, the sky a deep purple, it felt oppressive, like a low ceiling over the ponies’ heads, there was a smell of rain in the air, a rumble of thunder ripped through the countryside. Sheet lightening lit the sky pink and silver, the garden held its’ breath waiting for the rain to come. The thunder rolled away. No rain came for two hours and then the plop plop of heavy raindrops slowly falling but there were few. Just before dawn it did start to rain as if it were never going to stop, the ponies let it run all over them. Because of Robin they went back into the field shelter and waited for the rain to subside a little. Rocky watched from the opening, the rain wasn‘t soaking into the ground, it was just running over the top of it, but it was filling the ditch and Frogs Pond. The air was clearing, the sun was coming out again.

The meadow sweet, purple loosestrife and rose bay willow herb along the wayside hung their heads under the weight of raindrops clinging to them, but they would dry out before too long, like the ponies who now looked sleek and shiny again.

The Summer Holidays

The lazy hazy, drowsy blowsy days of summer persisted, with still no rainfall. A drought was declared. The water butts collecting rainwater from Mary’s roof were empty. Joe collected water from the now slow-moving stream at Berry, filling two big cannisters, taking them down to the walled garden with the help of Molly and her cart. Combines were busy in the distant fields, filling the air with their whirring and clanking, as they harvested golden oats. There was no more birdsong. The birds were tired after rearing all their chicks, their faded, drab, and bedraggled feathers, now ready to fall out and make way for new ones. The moult is an uncomfortable business and certainly nothing to sing about!

The children went to the wild garden most days with Joe, they had gigantic sunflowers in pots to water. At home in the Ukraine, sunflowers were field crops, grown for their oil, not like these giants. Anna and Artem were delighted with the ones they had grown, they seemed to be taller every day, and now their bright yellow petals were ready to fall like the birds’ feathers, leaving huge faces filled with seed for the birds to eat in the winter. Bill grew smaller variety sunflowers with other seeds for birds, in one of his fields, Joe had been looking at the sunflower heads, at the pattern of the seeds. They were in two spirals, one clockwise and the other anti-clockwise. An awesome design. He thought he would take one back to school in the Autumn to show the others in his biology class, or the maths class or the art class, it would make a good fit, in any of those. But now it was holiday time, so he wouldn’t think about school anymore.

The garden was burnt by the continual hot sun, the meadow grass was bleached, shrivelled, crisp to the touch, and crunched under foot. The glory in the garden was, for all to see, the purple moorland. The heather was out in full bloom, noisy with bees, filling the air with its sweet, honeyed scent.

The ponies weren’t having an easy time of it, with little to eat, water they had to put themselves at risk to reach, extreme heat and bothersome flies, they were beginning to lose weight, and now with the children visiting the garden so often, they were getting tense. Three humans in three different places, it was difficult finding somewhere secret to hide. Joe reasoned it was a good time to clean out the pond, the water had dried up, the frogs, newts and their young were on dry land. Anna loved to follow the butterflies as they flitted from flower to flower, so, she was running about all over the place. Artem had been given a bug hunting kit so he was delving under rocks and in the vegetation to see what he could find. The ponies went to the field shelter, it was out of the way, cool and quiet, until one morning, when Artem decided he would investigate there. Crawling through some long grasses towards it, when he heard Joe calling out ‘Nothing in there Artem’. Well, he would see for himself, he stuck his arm into the entrance. Fidget was on edge in all this heat, she saw the horrible hand feeling around, she wasn’t afraid of it, she wasn’t having her brother made afraid either. Small, curved ears held flat back and teeth showing she struck out hard with her front leg catching the boy’s finger with a sharp hoof, it recoiled quickly. The ponies, hearts thumping, waited for the hand to come back, it didn’t, but they wouldn’t be able to hide there again, they would be in danger of being caught. What they didn’t know was, that Artem wasn’t for running away this time, he wasn’t such a cry-baby, he was cross, feeling vengeful. He would look around for a good long stick and poke that in the entrance and strike back. Joe, unknowingly to the rescue again, was calling Artem from the potting shed, ‘Artem, come and see.’

Artem, forgetting his idea of looking for a stick, raced over to join the others. They were watching a huge army of ants coming out from underneath a cracked paving slab and marching up the path and into the potting shed. Anna had spilled some of her fruit juice on the floor there, they were thirsty in this heat and were drawn there by the smell of such sugary sweetness. The children were fascinated, transfixed by these little creatures. The sun was at its zenith. Joe felt it’s blistering heat on the back of his neck, they mustn’t get burnt, he checked the time on his phone, they should get back to Berry, he promised they would be home by one o’clock. Artem wanted to lift the paving slab and see what the ants were doing underneath, he looked mutinous when Joe said they must go now, but changed his tune, when Joe suggested if he wanted to watch what ants did in their home, he should have his own ant farm. His own ant farm, Artem was so excited, so taken with the idea, where did you get an ant farm. Joe told him about making a formicarium out of an old fish tank, he knew where there was one he could have.

The mothers were not pleased with the children for being late back, but they couldn’t stay cross for long, listening to them all talking at once about everything they had done and seen. Artem had caught the sun, scratched his knee on a bramble by the looks of it and banged the top of one finger which looked sore and swollen, his shoes were full of dust, he was excitedly, reciting all the creatures he had seen for his audience. Slugs, snails, flies, grasshoppers, a centipede, a spider, an earwig, and an army of ants he was going to catch and put in his formicarium. Katya and Saoirse laughed with delight and surprise at his newly acquired word power.

Anna had watched a ladybird eating aphids that were sucking the sap from some honeysuckle. She had listened to the noise of all the bees buzzing over the heather and seen them taking nectar out of the flowers. She had followed lots of butterflies, all different colours and patterns, she didn’t know their names, but Joe did. She had spilled some of her drink and hundreds of ants had cleared it up. Her lips were blue as she had been eating whortleberries which were growing on the moorland, they were nice but not very juicy, Joe said they had needed more rain.

Joe presented his mother with some sprigs of wild thyme for her kitchen, it was at its prettiest, covered in purple -pink clusters of flowers. Saoirse was smiling, but instead of thanking him, asked reprovingly what on earth had he been doing, he smelled like a box of old frogs! Joe laughed with her. Under his arm were three wilting ragwort plants, that he had pulled out of the garden, he wanted to know how to get rid of them safely, out of the way of Molly or any horses. Saoirse said it had to be burned, it was deadly poisonous. There were no bonfires to be had outside because it was tinder dry, no risk should be taken with anything that could get out of control and start a wildfire. They would light up the woodburning stove and get rid of it in there. Joe had saved the four little ponies again, they wouldn’t normally be tempted to eat ragwort, they were warned off by its foul-smelling stem, but may try it when other food was scarce. Saoirse asked Joe if he had pulled the plants out while wearing gloves. He said he didn’t have gardening gloves. Saoirse would find an old pair somewhere, to keep in the potting shed. Everyone should wear gloves when pulling ragwort, she insisted, but Joe had stopped listening, his mind was on the match that evening. Dad had promised, after Blake’s day at Berry, that the first fixture, when they could safely leave the corn harvest, would be the one of many they would go to, he would make more time for them. You must have some time off for things to enjoy together, maybe they would even get Saoirse interested in the game. Tonight, it was special, just Bill and Joe, they were off to St James Park to cheer the Grecians v Pompey!

The ponies were more relaxed now the children had gone, and the garden was theirs once more. Hunger drove them to eating gorse prickles, as they had had to during the hard winter. Have you ever noticed gorse is green and bears yellow flowers all year round. Robin couldn’t manage the sharp prickles in his small soft mouth, but Cora would make more milk for him if she was eating the juicy green spikes. Apart from the field shelter there were two other places to stand to get out of the flies, one on their rocky ledge, it was a bit higher up there and caught the breeze which flies do not like. The second, underneath the myrtle bush by frogs’ pond. Its leaves give off an aroma that repels flies.

Rocky trotted around the wall perimeter several times each day, searching for a way out. When the plant life had died down, the track he had pounded into the soil, would surely give him away. The garden, apart from the human beings was safe, no foxes, or badgers could get in there, luckily there had been no stoats or weasels or a visiting cat. Rocky, because of his foal, had been keeping a keen eye on the owl family who always seem to have a keen eye on him and his family, but now Robin was too big he thought, for them to carry away. But for all this the stallion was driven to find freedom, to get back to the rest of his herd, to quench his thirst with pure running water from the streams. Fidget was irritable all the time now, Cora and Robin were looking too thin. He watched over them all, and in the evening light as Robin turned towards him and looked up, he saw a circle of fine hairs around his nose and one around each eye, bearing flecks of grey hair. So, Robin was going to be just like his beautiful mother, he would need mares of his own one day, to pass the grey gene down to his own foals. He whinnied to them, they came over to him, standing close by, staying there while the cloak of darkness fell about them, listening to the churring, rising, and falling song of a nightjar, before it set off in the night to hunt for moths.

A Lucky Escape

The swallows were collecting on the telegraph wire, getting ready to return to their African wintering grounds, chattering to each other, excited to meet up again. Joe watched them as he walked down the lane to Mary’s. It was only seven o’clock, heavy dew sat sparkling on a myriad of cobwebs, that he otherwise would not have noticed. Although it promised to be another blue-sky day, he felt the bite of Autumn sharpness in the early morning air. He was off to meet Big Fred in the garden, who was bringing his chain saw to cut up the apple tree branch into logs. It was kind of him to make such an early start. Big Fred felt badly that he hadn’t got around to the job before, now he wanted it done for Joe, it was the last day of his holidays, before he had to go back to school.

The ponies had had a drink and were just walking nonchalantly up the big path towards the potting shed, sniffing the morning air, looking up to watch a young buzzard making lazy circles in the sky, soaring there his wings still, whilst calling out his mew, mew, they must beware of him, they would be easy prey for him. Then, they not only heard Joe coming, but saw him, they turned in a blind panic and with extended trot went back down the path to squeeze in behind the gas cylinders. This hiding place didn’t work as well as it had done when there were only three of them, now however much manoeuvring went on, there was always a head or hindquarters sticking out at one side or another.

How Joe missed seeing them was nothing short of a miracle, maybe he was a bit sleepy still, or maybe because he was engrossed watching a pair of young blackbirds playing at the other end of the meadow. He didn’t know they played like other young animals. One was sitting on a rock and then falling off backwards, Joe thought it was having difficulty catching a bug, but no, it repeated the fun and then the two of them were flying low in circles one after the other. It was Big Fred’s, ‘Mornin Joe’, as he burst onto the scene, that scared the birds away and got back Joe’s full attention. Big Fred hadn’t earned that name for nothing, he was big, big in every way, even his voice was big. ‘Let’s size up the job then boy’ he said. They went over to the corner where the hedgehog house stood. ‘Someone livin’ there already by the looks,’ Fred was showing Joe the path that had been worn in the earth to the entrance. Joe lifted the roof and peered in, nothing there, but sticking to the side of the opening, about 15 centimetres or so up, were a few white hairs. They tried to think what animal the hair could have come from. To aid his thought processes, Fred would get hold of the peak of his cap, which never left his head, and move it around a bit and back again, sometimes he just left it on sideways. ‘Do you get rabbits in yer Joe, could be belly fur from one of them or a stoat, weasel, cat.’ But none of those really felt right, the hair wasn’t as woolly soft as those, apart from the cat. Joe had never seen a cat in the garden and Mary had never mentioned there being one. Fred forgot to pull his cap to rights, coughed and announced’ Well us can’t bide yer all day, I’ll fetch me saw, and us’ll see what us kin do’. Fred put a pair of goggles on to prevent any saw dust getting into his eyes, clamped a pair of ear defenders over his cap and gave a pair to Joe, and told him to stand back out of the way. He stood over his chain saw and pulled the starter cord, and again, until the machine whined and screamed into life. Fidget on hearing a lawn mower for the first time, had been frightened but this, this saw, was terrifying, all the ponies fled out from behind the gas cylinders, each running blindly in a different direction. The din had startled Mary too, until she remembered that Joe and Big Fred were dealing with the branch today, she pulled back her curtains to see four tiny ponies running in sheer fear. Mary, banged on the window and waved her arms about, trying to get Joe’s attention. Joe had an armful of logs and was turning to take them to the hedgehog house when he saw Mary’s arm waving, out of the corner of his eye, he couldn’t wave back, but wiggled the fingers on his right hand and grinned at her. Mary kept waving her arm, she was trying to get Joe over to the window, to show him which direction these creatures had gone, but he didn’t read her signals, he continued down the garden with his armful of logs. Mary gave up, it was of no use to continue. Fidget had dived into the tunnel as far as she could go ,she was pouring with white sweat, Cora was just galloping about in the meadow, not aware of where she was or what she was doing, wherever she ran the noise of the saw revving and cutting, chased her, bit into her very senses, Rocky standing up on his hind legs pawing the air with his front legs was calling, and his foal stood in the middle of the big path, calling too, but, nothing could be heard over the din of the chain saw. While Big Fred and Joe were busy carrying logs and placing them over and around the hedgehog house, the ponies went back to the cylinders to look for each other, they took up their former stance there, just relieved to be together again.

It was extremely fortunate that Fidget had had the courage to take herself out of the tunnel, for this is what happened next. Fred and Joe were admiring their work, when Fred said ‘right boy, anything else while I’m here or is that the lot?’ ‘Well’ said Joe haltingly, ‘I have been wondering, the hedgehoglets must have left their mothers now, and soon they will all be looking for places to hibernate, how will they know we have a good place for them here and how will they get into the garden?’ Fred looked at the boy in some surprise, those were pretty daft questions coming from him, not like him at all. Big Fred had a big heart, so would answer kindly. ‘Well Joe, they will come in through thickey ‘ole in the wall, that I made for ‘em years ago. Idea being, if everyone makes sure they have somewhere for ‘em to get through, they’ll ‘ave a sort of highway of their own and can visit all the gardens, without being squashed by the cars on our roads. They’ll zoon zee the nice place you made for ‘em. Folks like them in their gardens, they helps clear up the slugs that are eating all their veg. They does no one no’arm, see?’’ Fred wasn’t at all sure Joe did see as he said ‘Where is the hole?’ Fred’s cap was given a half turn and now sat on his head back to front. Fred took Joe over to the wall, right next to the pony tunnel! He would have known that Fidget was in there, he had a nose for that sort of thing, not much slipped past Fred. ‘Just yer boy, see?’ Joe didn’t see and nor did Fred. His hand went up to the peak of his cap, but it wasn’t there. All became clear when he noticed clean cement around a brick, he started to chortle, then he threw back his head and did a big belly laugh, until tears were forced out of his closed eyes. ‘Yes, t’would be difficult gettin’ a tenant for your ‘edgeug ‘ouse, unless ‘em sprouts wings’ he laughed again. ‘Now young Joe, you go and see Mary today and tell her all about it, ask if us can take that brick out agin, ‘spect her thought twas a ‘ole needed mendin. Tell ‘ee what, I’ll borrow some tools off your dad and call in on my way home, then you make sure to tell us when you get your ‘edgepig.’ Fred looked at his watch,’ Yer, time to go or us’ll be late for work, you takin’ a lift up along me?’ ‘Yes please,’ said Joe. He would come down later with Molly and her baskets and pick the apples for Mary and take the rest home for Saoirse. In the meantime, he was feeling hungry and would like some breakfast.

Joe, Molly, and Lad walked over Bill’s fields that ran down to the back of the garden. He hitched Molly’s halter rope to a ring in the wall there and went into the garden with Lad. It wasn’t long before the old dog fell asleep in the warmth of the afternoon sun. Joe fetched a ladder out of the potting shed and set off towards the apple tree. There were quite a few apples lying on the grass, he went to pick those up first, but where they had bruised from hitting the hard ground, the flesh had turned brown and soft, they smelled of cider, and were crawling with drunken wasps. Joe thought they would get angry if they were disturbed, he didn’t want to be stung, he set his ladder up as far away from them as possible. There were plenty of apples, but they were small and hard, the tree had had to go without water for too long. Joe looked over the garden from the top of the ladder, the leaves on the hazel weren’t going to show their Autumn colours before they fell , they were ready to fall now, all dark brown and shrivelled, contorted, crisp, Everything in the garden was showing signs of drought.

The pond looked better, more alive, since he had cleaned it out and filled it with sparkling stream water from Berry. There was a newly emerged damsel fly there, wings outstretched to dry in the sun. Joe had read it may take all day before the wings were perfectly dry. The one he was watching must be a male in his iridescent blue, the females were green. ‘To think it took two years from being an egg to arrive at this very moment. I’m in the right place at the right time,’ Joe smiled at the thought, as he activated the camera on his phone and heard the app respond with its affirming feedback sound. He went once again with his supermarket bag full of apples and divided them between Molly’s baskets. He hadn’t been shutting the gate between trips, but from somewhere a sprite of a wind had got up and kept banging it shut, he pegged it back firmly to the wall, and went to collect more apples.

The ponies weren’t nervous with Joe around and they were used to Lad and Molly now, they just had to be mindful to keep quietly out of the way. They were in amongst the stems of some common mallow plants that edged the meadow. This mallow was still bearing its vibrant flowers, the bees were busy there, Joe had been watching them work that day, he didn’t have to bend down to see, he was only just a few centimetres taller than them! The mallow was quite near the open gate, the ponies were walking around the stalks getting nearer and nearer to it. Joe took the last bag of apples to the donkey baskets. Rocky looked at the others, now was their chance for freedom, they tucked in line behind him and went cautiously towards the opening, for they didn’t know where they were going or how far away the boy was, then, suddenly something happened to force them on in a gallop through that gateway, making their little hearts beat fast inside them. Joe saw them, he was looking at his phone and with a lightening reaction flicked to camera mode and took his shot. Lad was the reason the ponies made haste through the gate. He had been fast asleep, a feeling that he was all alone woke him up and sat him up, he looked around, had Molly and Joe gone without him? Not even stopping to stretch, he hurried for the gateway, Joe was just there, he was relieved to see him, he calmed down and with his ears pinned back with pleasure, he walked towards him wagging his tail, but, Joe didn’t seem to see him; he ran past him following the trail of dust kicked up by sixteen hooves in a hurry. Lad went to sit by Molly to wait for Joe’s return.

Joe searched everywhere but the little animals had completely vanished. He leaned against the wall the other side of the apple tree and took his phone out of his pocket, at least he had the photo. He scrolled through his photos and there was only a picture of Lad coming through the gateway, completely obscuring any ponies. He couldn’t even make out any legs, it was he supposed the angle he had taken the picture in, in such a hurry. He would download it when he got home and zoom in and see if he could make out anything at all. He stood there for a full ten minutes, trying not to apportion blame onto Lad. He looked instead for the bright side. Big Fred was going to make the hole in the wall that evening, so, if everything was quiet for a day or two, very likely the pony creatures would come back to the garden again. He had been thinking how much he would like to get a night vision camera for the garden, he had his eye on the Wild cam. It was expensive, but he could monitor it through his watch, imagine that! He would have to earn the money. Joe had seen that the newsagent was looking for someone to do the paper round, if it could be fitted in before the school bus left, he would do it. He couldn’t think it would be a long round, as most people now read the news online. He would ask Mum to enquire when she went down to the shops tomorrow. If they would take him on, and he saved every penny, he thought he could have a camera in the garden by Christmas and have bought everyone’s presents too.

Joe walked back towards the patiently waiting animals, took a last look around the garden and shut the gate. He went to Lad, hunkered down, giving him a hug, and telling him he was a good boy. Molly nudged the back of his neck; he stood up and made a fuss of her too. They made their way home back over Bill’s fields, happy in each other’s company.