The Farm by the Lake полностью

“Never tasted Yorkshire puddin’s like this nowhere, Mrs. Nadin,” said one of the older fishermen, chewing, and at the same time scratching the centre of his bald head with his little finger, while his fork stuck up like a three-pronged lightning conductor.

“You never saw no one as put such good stuff in,” said Mrs. Nadin, rosy and sure of herself.

“I’ve bin comin’ here six years an’ oo’s never made a failure,” the bald man told the room generally.

“It’s eggs,” said Mrs. Nadin. “Eggs, an’ dunna be feart of ’em. You canna make good puddin’ ’bout good stuff.”

Dot poured extra gravy for those who wanted it. Flo passed the salt or mustard or water. Mrs. Nadin stood and talked. Then Bert came in hugging across his chest twelve bottles of beer.

“Good old fourpenny!” shouted the long-haired man. “Have one with me, Ma.”

“Nay, I’m too old for a cock like thee, lad. Offer thi drinks to a pullet,” retorted Mrs. Nadin. The older men laughed as though they had heard that before. The young man looked at Dot and then at Flo, and was about to speak when Mrs. Nadin broke in again: “If any on you gets drunk, it’s out you go. An’ if any on you tipples wi’ the old man, I’ll scrat your eyes out.”

There was a pop! as Bert drew a cork, but no one spoke. Flo was told to bring more glasses, and on her way back she passed Mrs. Nadin, carrying the pudding-tin empty. Their own dinner was kept till all the fishermen had finished and everything had been sided except bottles, glasses and ashtrays. As she left for the last time, Flo heard loud laughter and knew somehow that it was about something that referred to herself. There was no pudding with the meat in the house, and the potatoes and carrots were dry, having baked to the pan bottom. Mrs. Nadin, however, seemed unaware, and chewed quickly and indifferently. Mr. Nadin, who very seldom said anything at meals, this time never spoke, and as soon as he had finished, got up and went out. Bert soon went also, though out by the front, and only Clem wasted time as usual on the couch.

After dinner Flo looked at all the stacked pots dismayed.

“Shove a bomb under ’em; that’s best way to get shut,” said Clem, leaning with his forearms along the table, and grinning.

But Mrs. Nadin bustled in from the pantry, turned on a heavy spurt and held her hand under the tap, waiting for the hot to come. She set the pots out so quickly that Dot and Flo working hard, could not keep up with her, till Flo realized that this time it was not necessary to polish everything.

“We give ’em a good do when we finish,” said Mrs. Nadin, noticing how she had quickened.

All afternoon there was no rest. Just before three a party of four tramped up to the back door, knocked, and without waiting, clamped in to the stairs, and stacked on the bottom steps two worn suitcases, two bulky haversacks, and a bundle wrapped with black oilskin. Then one of them, very tall and round-faced, with a curious growth like a quarter-inch wart on the left of his nose, came back and leaned into the kitchen and asked: “Okay till Monday, Ma?”

“If you can behave,” said Mrs. Nadin.

“I reckon we could do with a wet before we start.”

“Ale or a brew?”

“Brew; . . . I think fish smell ale.”

“They should be used to it wi’ you lot,” she answered. “I ne’er knew such swill-bellies.”

“If they’d come in a lot, ’stead of all ta pieces, there’d be more sense,” said Mrs. Nadin when he had gone.

The big kettle was put on and was kept on till after six, being topped up whenever there was chance. Not all the folk who came were fishers. Some came simply for a row, though not many, because of the empty trees and the water still being grey, but there were five parties of walkers who stopped on their way through the valley. Dot kept in the cabin. Mrs. Nadin stayed in the house, except for an occasional vigorous trip to see if everything was being done right. Flo was kept at it to and fro; and whenever there was a moment, she was told to wash and wipe pots. Dot ordered her in the cabin, and Mrs. Nadin ordered her in the house. The little woman’s patience gave out about the time when normally she went upstairs for her after-dinner rest. Clem came in for his drink.

“You great gawp, clear from under mi feet,” Mrs. Nadin exclaimed. “There’s noo tea for idle bones.”

Flo had just gone to the fire to lift the kettle back. He put his arm round her, and she felt his hand heavy on her hip.

“Do me an’ the old man a cup, or there’ll be ructions,” he said cajolingly.

She glanced doubtfully across at Mrs. Nadin.

“Give it the babby; he’ll blub ’is eyes out if you dunna,” came the bitter retort.

Flo brewed in a little pot, but was uncomfortable. Then the farmer came in and sat in his chair, and held out his hand.

“It’s a good job somebody’s got time for us,” he commented gently; and Flo felt better.

“A fine one you are ta talk,” stormed Mrs. Nadin. “Muckin’ an’ messin’ from month end to month end; an’ when somebody’s mekkin’ a bit, all you con do is plank your great mucky self in the way.”