Conference at Cold Comfort Farm Read online

  Flora went to the Greate Barne in search of supper.

  The odour of hot bread floated out through the open door, and figures in clean print dresses and shiny boots bustled hither and thither, kneading dough, melting sugar, and dredging flour onto pastry-boards, while filling the air with a ceaseless shrill singing.

  ‘Us be gettin’ riddy for us’ns men, Miss Poste!’ cried Hetty, flitting by with a stack of soggy turnovers, ‘time be growin’ short, sure-lie!’

  ‘Now wull ee take a bite o’ supper wi’ us an’ ours, Miss Poste?’ asked Jane persuasively, pushing a great green egg all over straw and bits under Flora’s nose. ‘Us knows ee’s heart is well set us-wards an’ ours-wards.’

  Flora accepted with a smile, and took a seat between Prue and Phoebe at the trestle table where the homespun cloth and the large crackled plates were arranged, but she had hardly raised the first spoonful of the great green egg to her lips when Letty started up with an eldritch cry:

  ‘An airyplane! I hears an airyplane! Maidies all, ’tes our menfolk come whoam!’

  Jane snatched up the soggy turnovers, Phoebe caught at a jug of whin-water, Prue and Letty each seized a leaden loaf, while Susan swooped upon the bowl of boiled eggs, and they all rushed to the door. Flora (pausing only to drop the great green egg under the table) hastened after them, out into the Greate Yarde where evening shadows were lightened by the last sunrays shining upon the farmhouse roofs. A very large white liner was just crossing through the full sunlight of the upper air immediately overhead, and they all screamed and pointed. In another moment a glider followed it into view, and they all screamed and pointed again. Then seven female forms in long skirts, some wearing large straw hats and some with streaming hair, began to hurry up the slopes of grass rising towards Ticklepenny’s Field, shrieking and brandishing loaves, jugs and tarts, and stumbling as they ran. Flora followed at a more restrained pace, rather vexed that the Starkadders had returned some seventeen hours earlier than they were expected. But wasn’t it just like them?

  As the maidens (it has been convenient throughout to call them so, though in fact some were married) reached the summit of the slope, the liner was just making a rather inferior landing in Ticklepenny’s, and Reuben and his family could be seen running over the field towards it. It looked larger and whiter and more disturbing than ever now that it was on the ground, and Flora felt certain that if the Sage could have seen it he would have credited it without hesitation to the account of Monkey.

  The glider, meanwhile, had landed upon a haystack.

  Reuben’s family were now crowding round the liner, and more sightseers, including Hick Dolour and Mrs Murther and other Howling villagers, were arriving every moment, and hurrying up to the white monster standing amidst the bleached grass.

  Suddenly a door in its side opened. A figure stood there, looking bronzed, bearded and very cross. A cheer went up:

  ‘Micah! ’Tes Micah Starkadder!’ and Susan screamed piercingly and swooned. Phoebe dashed some whin-water over her.

  Micah flung up his hand. At once the crowd became silent.

  ‘My curse be on ye all!’ roared Micah. ‘Broken reeds and weak sisters that ye be! Th’ stranger’s foot be set on Cold Comfort’s hearth an’ th’ sukebind grows wheer th’ wheat should be settin’! Is this how ye keeps your Oath, Reuben Starkadder?’ pointing at his nephew.

  ‘I niver sweers that sort of a oath, Uncle Micah. Ee mistakes. What I swears was –’

  ‘Nay, niver answer me! I sees th’ answer writ plain fer all to read. Ay,’ and his voice swelled like thunder rolling round the Draakensberg Ranges, ‘’twas full time, full time, Starkadders all, as I did come whoam agen!’

  Micah paused, and let his eye slowly pass over the faces of the assembly, which, however, was not so awed by this as he had hoped, because half of it was now interestedly watching Ezra’s efforts to coax Big Business out of the glider and down the side of the haystack, Big Business the while looking majestically at Ezra as if to ask him was he crazy?

  Micah drew a deep breath.

  ‘Now hear me, all on ye!’ he thundered, holding up a very large hand with a brass ring on it. ‘Afore ye all I swears a solemn oath –’

  ‘Oh please, need we have any more solemn oaths?’ It was Flora, who had made her way through the crowd, and now stood at Micah’s side. ‘They are such a nuisance, and it is such a bore getting them unsworn again. Do let’s get the others out, the maidens are simply longing to see them’ (and indeed, other bronzed, bearded faces could be seen peering gloomily over Micah’s shoulder), ‘and then you can swear it after supper – if you still really feel you must.’

  There was a pause, during which Micah frowned steadily upon Flora. Then:

  ‘I mind ye, it beseems me,’ he said at last. ‘Ay, now I mind ye well. Ye be Robert Poste’s child, and ’twas ee who did presumpt tu set us all by th’ ears nigh on siventeen years agone.’

  ‘You can put it that way if you like, Fig Starkadder’s child. But never mind all that now; do let the others out.’

  Here the others settled matters by hurling Micah aside and rushing down the liner’s steps. At the same moment Big Business, with an indignant bellow, fell out of the glider on to the heap of straw which the prudent Ezra had been diligently preparing for this very event.

  Sobbing with joy, the maidens ran to their men and made to fling themselves into their arms. But not all were received with kindness. Flora heard Ezra accuse Jane of betraying him with the postman, and Harkaway telling Hetty that her letters had been main drearsome and dull, while Caraway contented himself with felling Letty to the earth. Luke and Mark affected not to recognize Prue and Phoebe and roared with laughter at their dismay, but none of the maidens expressed resentment; their meek faces shone with fulfilment as they gazed adoringly, through falling tears, at their men; and when at last a procession set out for the Farm, headed by Micah and Reuben, each Starkadder had beside him a maiden, staggering beneath the weight of his luggage and meekly sucking an exotically flavoured South African lollipop.

  ‘Come, Mis’ Fairford!’ exclaimed Nancy, hurrying up to Flora with smiling face and a child on either hand. ‘Supper be spread below, an’ we mun drink ee’s health in bracket. For ’tes all along o’ ee that th’ lads be whoam agen!’

  ‘That is very kind of you, Nancy, but I am going home myself now –’

  ‘Whoam? Ter-night?’

  ‘Yes. I think I see a friend over there who will drive me back to London –’ and Flora nodded towards the road a quarter of a mile or so away, where for the last ten minutes a very large open pale blue racing car had been drawn up, containing a small female form dressed in white – ‘and my family will be expecting me, you know.’

  ‘I were main set fer ee to sit in church ter-morrer wi’ us an’ ours, Mis’ Fairford.’

  ‘I know you were, Nancy, and it would have been very gratifying to me to come, but –’

  Flora paused. Sounds from the farmhouse were coming up through the still, clear evening air. They are best described as roars of surprised fury, and they were followed by the unmistakable sound of Welsh dressers and framed samplers being hurled out of windows.

  ‘Dear-me-love!’ exclaimed Nancy.

  Flora nodded. ‘Reuben must write and explain matters to the Trust,’ she said. ‘He might suggest that the Starkadders buy the farm back again; they must have plenty of money, for you cannot hire an air liner and a glider for a song, you know. Perhaps they have struck a diamond-pipe on Grootebee –’

  ‘Nay, niver mention Grootebeeste!’

  ‘All right, then, I won’t. Now, Nancy, I must really be going’ (for the small female form in the large pale blue open car had begun beckoning). ‘My case is packed and ready in my room. Could Charley bring it up to me?’

  Away ran Charley, eager to get a closer view of the bonfire now blazing in the Greate Yarde, and after Flora and Nancy had exchanged a cordial farewell, Nancy went down the hill with the children, and Flora walked
over to the car.

  ‘Hullo, darling,’ said Mrs Smiling. ‘What in heck is going on down there? Did you have a nice time? Has the weather been good? In London it’s been snowing.’

  ‘The weather has been warm, and we’ve had thick dews and early morning mists and pigeons calling all day in the woods.’

  ‘Aren’t you clever. All your children are well; I saw the spiv in the Park this morning with Emilia, and he told me so, with his dishonest face wreathed in smiles. Flawra, what is going on down there? Here, have the glasses.’

  She handed them to Flora, who adjusted them to her own sight, and looked.

  Caraway’s face, contorted with passion of some kind, swam into her field of vision as he rushed across the Greate Yarde pursuing somebody with a chopper, and when she moved the glass a little to the left she focused on Mark Dolour, slowly breaking up some article of furniture to feed the bonfire and at intervals striking matches along the snowy walls. The clangour of wrought-iron signs being kicked across a stone floor came from the Greate Scullerie, and her last sight of the farm was a glimpse of Ezra, stooping in one of the numerous little gardens to score the superb turf with an old knife. Beside him lay a mound of young cabbage plants.

  As she returned the glasses to Mrs Smiling, she saw Adam Lambsbreath hobbling down over the ridge at the far end of Ticklepenny’s Field, looking exactly the same as he had for the past fifty years, and followed by Mishap, Mislay, Misdemeanour and Mischance. He saw Flora, scowled, and gazed away from her. He was evidently leading the cows down to the farm on a visit, for, when they saw Big Business still sulking by the haystack where his outrageous descent had occurred, they all lifted their heads and mooed in shy, dutiful welcome.

  Charley now came panting up with Flora’s case.

  ‘’Tes turrible down theer, Mis’ Fairford!’ cried Charley, his eyes bright with entertainment. ‘Our Micah du be a-cursin’ of Feyther, an’ Feyther du be a-cursin’ of un back agen. Our Mark an’ our Luke du be fightin’ in the Greate Barne, an’ th’ maidens be weepen all. There be cakes for all, an’ pots o’ bracket an’ whin-water an’ they sugar things fro’ South Afriky. Ay, an’ our Caraway he du be pushin’ all t’ furniture out of window! ’Tes wunnerful turrible tu see, Mis’ Fairford. Wull ee come down an’ see ut, Mis’ Fairford, wull ee?’

  ‘No, thank you, Charley. I must go home. Good-bye. If I were you I should get under the table –’

  ‘Oah, I dunna like it theer, Mis’ Fairford. I likes fine to see ’em all a-bashin’ an’ a-cursin’! I mun go now, Mis’ Fairford, for fear o’ missin’ summut!’

  He rushed away down the hill, and Flora turned to Mrs Smiling.

  ‘We will go too, Mary, if you are ready? Cold Comfort Farm seems to be itself again.’

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  Copyright © Stella Gibbons 1949

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