Rachel’s Pudding Pantry. Caroline Roberts
that had lasted far too long came bleakly to mind, and she gave an involuntary shiver. Sometimes, in Rachel’s heart, it felt as cold as ice looking back to that time. Spring, though uplifting, could also be a bittersweet time for Rachel.
She swiftly shifted her thoughts back to the here and now and pulled out a paperback from her pocket. She settled to read for a while, losing herself in a world of tearooms and tangled love affairs. It was a pleasant escape in a world of troubles.
In the early hours of the morning, the Cheviot ewe she’d spotted earlier began to give birth; the sac was showing and the lamb presenting. Rachel watched closely. It was straightforward and the mother sheep managed well on her own – the second lamb appearing a short while after the first, and the ewe licking them clean. Both lambs were up on their legs within minutes, and soon began suckling. Nature was an amazing thing. It was still a mini miracle to Rachel every single time – watching new life blossom.
Rachel was well aware that farmers could sometimes be viewed as hard, but it was more a case of having to be practical. She cared for every single animal at the farm and its livelihood. Yes, the farm was a business, of course, and financially at times a very tough one – the animals were reared to be sold on at the end of the day – but farming was so much more than that. These sheep, their predecessors, and the small herd of cows they kept, had been here with them for many years. She was guardian of the land too. From being a little girl, this farm and its valley had a huge piece of her heart.
Rachel felt her tummy rumble as she did another tour of the animals. One Texel was still up and down and circling a bit, but nothing seemed imminent, so Rachel decided to have her sandwiches and some more hot tea. It was beginning to get chillier now, she could see her breath misting, but with her thermal layers, double socks, woollen jumper and coat, she stayed warm. She unwrapped the foil package her mum had made for her. The ham was thick and tasty and the fresh wholemeal bread was spread with a touch of honey-grain mustard. Delicious. She gave Moss a crust and sipped her tea. An owl hooted outside, then all was quiet again. The brightness of the shed a beacon in the still of the night.
An hour or so later, the Texel was beginning to show properly. She seemed agitated, not wanting to lie down for long. Rachel perched on some bales nearer to the Texel’s pen – there were just twelve of them on the farm. Two had already lambed successfully a couple of days ago and were already out in the field. Within another half hour, all the signs were pointing to an imminent birth, but she seemed to be struggling, and a panicked sheep running around with a lamb about to be born was not a good thing. Rachel put her sheep-wrestling technique into action and dived onto the back of the ewe – the Texels were a large, muscular sheep and needed some force to tackle them down to the ground. The ewe could then be turned on her side. It would make it easier for both ewe and lamb.
Damn it, Rachel was on the sheep’s back but the ewe was still fighting it, thrashing her legs about, so Rachel used an old shepherd’s tip handed down from her dad and grandad and pulled off her coat, placing it over the ewe’s head. The creature did settle somewhat, thank heavens, enough that Rachel could check her rear and see the lamb’s nose and feet there. It could well be a large lamb. The birth might just take a while, but Rachel also knew that you couldn’t afford to leave it too long without intervention.
Twenty minutes later, and nothing had changed, so Rachel attached her lambing cord and began trying to help the little creature out, heaving back against the prop of a straw bale. This was like the bloody enormous turnip of Maisy’s bedtime stories; nothing was giving, and the ewe was trying to get up again, panting and bleating. Rachel knew that the situation would soon be life-threatening for both sheep and lamb. She needed to call someone right now, someone experienced and stronger than herself. Think, think. Simon lived over fifteen minutes’ drive away. Next door was Tom’s farm – he’d no doubt be busy with his own sheep, but as he had a bigger farm she knew he had two farmhands, so one of them might well be on duty with him. With no time to waste, she pulled her mobile phone from her pocket, still trying to keep the ewe wedged to the ground as she made the call.
The dialling tone rang four or five times, then – finally – he picked up.
‘Tom.’
‘Rachel, is that you … is everything okay?’ He sounded rather bleary, he must have been sleeping.
‘Not really, I’ve a Texel in trouble. The lamb seems to be stuck.’
‘Right.’ Instantly, he sounded alert. ‘I’ll come straight over.’ They both knew the seriousness of the situation.
Rachel put her phone back in her pocket and stayed with the ewe, trying her best to keep the creature calm and grounded.
The welcome sounds of a quad rolling up outside came a short while after. Tom arrived with a brief ‘Hi’ and then went straight into action. Rachel stayed at the ewe’s head, whilst Tom got to work below, having to use the cords himself. He was tall and strong, but even then, he had to heave with his back set against the straw bales. At last, after much effort, the lamb came free. It was large, with a mass of mucus around it … and it didn’t move. Tom carefully wiped the mucus away from its mouth and gave its body a firm rub. Still no movement – the poor thing seemed lifeless. He blew into its mouth, once, twice.
‘Come on lad, you can do it.’
And there was a flicker of life, a twitch of a leg initially, then it lifted its damp woolly head, raised itself to a tentative stand and shook itself down – shocked at its arrival into the world. The mother sheep shifted across instinctively to lick it.
‘Thank you, Tom.’ Rachel found herself feeling a little emotional. Fatigue and the stress of the situation suddenly crashed in.
‘Hey, you’re welcome. Good call getting me out.’ Tom smiled.
‘I know. I was struggling. I need some stronger muscles.’ It was frustrating at times not having the physical strength that was required for the more challenging jobs on the farm.
‘Hah, now we don’t want you looking like the Hulk or anything,’ Tom joked, his dark brown eyes shining.
‘Hi, little chap.’ Rachel moved across to see the new-born lamb, who thankfully seemed fine after his ordeal coming into the world. She’d let him and his mum settle for a few minutes together and then she’d do her checks on the lamb. But just now, they all needed a breather.
‘Would you like a tea, Tom? And … I’ve got some of Mum’s sticky toffee pudding here.’
‘Now you’re talking. Well, that’s certainly worth getting up at 3 a.m. for.’ He grinned.
Rachel poured out his drink from the flask, passing over the now communal tin mug. Tom took it, his forearm smeared with muck and blood, but neither were worried about dirt and grime; it was par for the course in the lambing shed.
They sat together side by side on a straw bale.
‘God, I really appreciate you coming over.’ The relief began flooding through Rachel.
‘No worries. You know I’m here to help … any time. I’ve always said that.’ He gave her an earnest look.
‘Thanks. You’ve been so good to us.’ He was such a great family friend – had helped see them through the toughest of times. In fact, sometimes she worried he’d think they were a bit of a pain – the women from the farm next door. They tried not to pester too much, doing their best to remain self-sufficient at Primrose Farm, but tonight really had been an emergency situation.
Tom was a little older in his mid-thirties. They had known each other since childhood, though Tom had been a teenager, whizzing up and down the lane on his quad bike, when Rachel was just a small girl. He’d lived on the family farm next door virtually all his life, except when he’d got married and moved away. Then, when his father’s arthritis hit hard several years ago, his parents had moved out to a bungalow in Kirkton, allowing Tom to take over the main farmhouse and the running of the farm with his then-wife, Caitlin. They’d divorced three years ago – pretty acrimoniously, so Rachel heard – and he’d been living there as a single man ever since.