A Time To Pay Read online

  A Time To Pay

  David Woods

  Copyright © 2014 David Woods

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1499547668

  ISBN 13: 9781499547665

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter One

  A strong south westerly drove sheets of rain across the weald of Kent, buffeting and soaking forty Friesian cows as they ambled down a rough stone track towards a field of grass, their hoofs slipping before gripping the ground under the top surface of mud. Brian Wilkins walked with his hand on the last animal’s back. Listening to the creaking of the hooves and howling of the wind, he watched the steam like a mist rise from the forty hot bodies in front of him. The herd quickened its pace in anticipation of new grass as they spread out into the field. Brian pulled the makeshift wire netting gate across the gap in the fence and secured it with baler twine, which reminded him of the state of affairs the farm was currently in. They could not afford a proper gate, so string and wire had to suffice.

  It was mid-September 1964, a bad year for the Wilkins family farm. Brian walked back to the farmyard feeling weak, depressed and hungry, having only drunk one cup of tea half way through milking an hour ago. This tea was made with milk drawn directly from a cow, making it frothy and creamy, but it did little to stave off his hunger.

  Having just washed the mud off his boots, Brian was joined by his father and they went into the dairy together, John Wilkins clutching a handful of labels to tie to the churns ready for the lorry. He looked grimly at Brian. “Not much milk this morning!”

  “Down again, I’m afraid. The old girls don’t like this rain.”

  “Neither do I. We’ll have to take them in at night soon.”

  “Yeah, then hopefully they’ll produce a bit more milk.”

  “We shouldn’t have to feed winter rations yet.”

  They walked together to the farmhouse, the smell from the kitchen meeting them as they kicked off their boots in the lobby. Betty Wilkins had breakfast cooked, and they sat around the large kitchen table eating in silence. It was a large room containing an Aga cooker, which provided both hot water and heating, so even on the coldest nights it was warm. Brian looked at his mother’s pale and worried face, and noticed her food was untouched as she stared blankly at a pile of letters. He hated to see her like this, and felt so frustrated at not being able to do anything about it.

  John looked up and said softly. “Come on love, eat up.”

  She smiled weakly. “I will but please look at those letters.”

  “Not until you’ve eaten.”

  Betty sighed in resignation and picked up her knife.

  Brian felt better having cleared his plate of bacon, eggs and fried bread. He looked around the large kitchen and noticed the teapot on the Aga, so he poured tea for all of them. He then noticed a letter from the bank which John picked up and slowly read.

  Brian looked at him. “What does the bank want this time?”

  “Repayment of a large part of our overdraft within six months.”

  Betty looked up from sipping her tea. “Oh my God. We can’t possibly manage that, can we?”

  John took a large gulp of tea and stared again at the letter. “We’ll have to see the manager again, and try and change his mind.

  Brian sat down again and looked at the toast rack full of thick brown slices, not one eaten. He took the nearest, spreading butter and marmalade thickly over it, all the time aware he was the only one eating. He looked again at his mother; a tall trim woman in her late forties, her hair cut shorter than it used to be and with streaks of grey clearly visible. Her face was thinner with lines around her soft blue-green eyes. He broke the silence, looking hard at his father. “Do you think the bank manager will give us more time?”

  John thought for a moment. “I doubt it. The last time we had a meeting he told us not to postpone the inevitable.”

  “Oh hell. I suppose that means selling up?”

  “Yes” said Betty. And then what on earth will we do?” There was no answer to that question.

  Brian sat and looked at his father, waiting for him to suggest a solution to their problems, but none came. This is a new and depressing experience for him. His father always had the answer to problems in the past, but this one seems insurmountable.

  John was shorter than Betty and Brian, but heavily built with large calloused deeply lined hands and thinning hair. He always wore a cap in the winter and a straw hat in summer. He was unusually silent as he looked through the letters and bills, being normally the talkative one with Brian and Betty having very little to contribute. Brian could not face any more toast and rose from the table.

  “I’ll go out to the dairy and wash up.”

  His father just nodded while his mother still sat staring at her cold food, her head bent forward and resting in her hands. Brian noticed a skin had formed across her tea, so he tipped it away and poured her another cup.

  “Come on Mum, drink up.”

  Betty looked up briefly, her eyes shiny and wet. “Thanks Brian”

  Brian filled up two large steel buckets with hot water from the tank on the side of the Aga, and walked out across the yard to the dairy. The rain was pouring down, but he hardly noticed. His fair hair was soaked with water running down his neck and sticking his shirt to his back, while hot water in the buckets was splashing down his trousers into his boots. Depression dulled his senses, causing him to work without noticing any discomfort.

  John finished reading the letters and spoke gravely to Betty.

  “We’ll try and hang on as long as possible.”

  “And then what’ll we do for heaven’s sake?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  Betty finally drank her tea. “When’ll we have to sell?”

  “In the spring. When the place looks more attractive.”

  “And then what?”

  “I could get a cowman’s job with a tied house, I suppose.”

  “All that hard work and worry for nothing.”

  “Yeah. It’s a bloody awful situation, and I can’t see any way out of it.”

  He got up, walked around the table and put his arm around his wife’s shoulder whispering “we’ll survive.”

  “But what about Brian?”

  “A strong, twenty-year old will always get a job on a farm.”

  “I suppose so. But he wanted to take over when we retire, and it seems such a shame.”

  John and Betty bought the place in Kent ten years ago with money they had inherited. It is a mixed farm, with cows grazing the nearby grass meadows on the side of the North Downs, and with corn growing on the flat fields of The Weald. It is heavy clay land expensive to farm. The farmhouse and buildings stood on the side of the hill with the north-east side sheltere
d by tree covered hills. It is a lovely secluded place to live with magnificent views across The Weald. John had been a cowman before and always dreamed of having his own farm. When the opportunity of a run- down place needing a lot of work and the inheritance money came together, they acted quickly and borrowed heavily to buy stock, along with additional land to make it a viable proposition.

  The bank had been pleased to lend the money, but interest rates were climbing, making the farm income only just enough to cover them without paying back the loan. The harvest was bad with low prices paid for the grain.

  Brian finished washing up the milking equipment and stood at the dairy entrance looking out across The Weald. The sky was looking brighter and he was sure the rain would soon cease to allow him to commence ploughing. His mind drifted back to their problem and he thought about his own future. He only knew about farming and wanted to be his own boss one day, but this prospect was looking increasingly unlikely. He imagined himself working for another farmer for the rest of his life and the idea made him even more depressed.

  He left the local secondary modern school with a less than distinguished academic record – in fact his best subjects were woodwork, metalwork and sport. He played for the school football team for two years, and then for the local village team. John and Betty were delighted when he joined them on the farm because he could already do most of the jobs, and it meant they could buy a good second- hand tractor and implements to do the arable cultivations, without employing expensive contractors.

  Brian was heavily built and very strong due to all the manual work, particularly at harvest time when heavy sacks of corn had to be loaded on to trailers.

  The rain continued off and on all day. Brian came in for an early lunch. John was sitting at the kitchen table trying to work out a plan to avert the impending disaster and Brian sat down opposite.

  “Is there anything that can be done?”

  “I’m trying to work out something, but things still look grim.”

  After a long discussion it was agreed to continue in the hope that interest rates would fall.

  That evening when the rain had finally stopped, Brian decided to clean his motorcycle. He was proud of the red Royal Enfield Constellation 700 cc machine with its large fairing on the front. After riding carefully along the country lanes, he stopped outside his girlfriend’s house. Laura lived with her parents and worked in Maidstone as a dental receptionist. She was a tall slim girl with dark hair and liked to wear all the modern style clothes. She did not think much of Brian’s jeans, riding boots and waxed cotton jacket. They enjoyed each other’s company, but Brian found it very difficult to hold a conversation with her. She liked him, but was in love with the idea of being a farmer’s wife. Laura met Brian at the garden gate, and quickly sat on the pillion seat.

  “Let’s go down the pub” were her first words.

  “Ok, hang on.”

  He guided her to a quiet corner table and handed her a drink.

  She looked at his face.

  “You look worried, what’s wrong?”

  “Things on the farm aren’t looking good.”

  “In what way?”

  “Financially.”

  “I can’t believe it. I thought all you farmers were loaded.”

  “The big ones are.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. We might have to sell up.”

  Laura was visibly shocked and put her glass down heavily, spilling some of the contents on to the wooden surface. She stared as the liquid ran into the cracks and then looked up, her eyes moist.

  “Aren’t you upset?”

  “Of course I’m bloody upset. That farm has been my life since I was ten.”

  “Is it absolutely certain you’ll have to sell up?”

  “Almost.”

  “What the hell will you do then?”

  “Get a job, I suppose.”

  “Oh yes, what as?”

  “A cowman.”

  “But that’s a dead end job.”

  “It’s not bad pay and you get a free house.”

  “You’ll come home stinking of cows for the rest of your life.”

  She grabbed her glass, drained it in one gulp and then shrank back into the chair, as far away from him as she could.

  Brian had never seen her so upset before and was stuck for words, so he took her glass to the bar and ordered another drink. When he returned she was still sulking. He put the glass down in front of her.

  “Cheer-up, it’s not the end of the world.”

  “How could you and your father be so bloody stupid as to let things get that bad?”

  Brian was stunned and could only stutter “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know. That’s even more stupid.”

  “It just happened.”

  “It doesn’t just happen. I’ve never heard of a farmer forced to sell up.”

  Brian emptied his glass of beer and stared at the froth in the bottom, trying to think of something to say. He looked up.

  “Why are you getting so upset?”

  “Why, indeed. It’s nothing to do with me, is it?”

  “Cheer-up, then.”

  “I don’t feel like cheering up” she answered irritably. “Please take me home.”

  It was dark when he parked outside the house. Laura got off and ran indoors in tears. Brian just sat there not knowing what to do and after a couple of minutes decided there was no point in hanging around. He rode back home feeling upset and sick inside.

  That night he could not sleep and spent the long hours churning over the recent events in his mind. Laura’s reaction surprised and upset him. He thought about the good times they had together, making love on the settee after her parents went to bed. He finally fell asleep, only to be woken an hour later by his alarm clock.

  The following day was bright and sunny with white puffy clouds flitting quickly across the sky, driven by a stiff breeze. Brian felt tired and his eyes were sore.

  His father took one look at him.

  “What’s the matter, son? You look rough. Had a night on the tiles?”

  “Something like that.”

  “If this weather continues it should dry that stubble field.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get the plough ready after breakfast.”

  Brian enjoyed ploughing and marked out his headland that afternoon. The field was still too wet but he was sure conditions would improve the following day.

  In the evening he rode to Laura’s house and walked up to knock at the front door. Her mother appeared wearing riding gear. She was a tall, horsey type of woman with grey hair tied in a bun.

  “Hello Brian. Laura’s gone out.”

  “Oh. How long will she be?”

  “I’m not sure, but I know she won’t want to see you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you upset her last night, and she came in crying.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He turned and left quickly, not wishing to discuss the matter or stay any longer. He rode for an hour, not wanting to go home where his parents would see he was upset. It was dark when he finally parked the bike in the old chicken shed, which served very well as a store for all the paraphernalia associated with motorcycling. His bedroom was in the attic and he climbed the stairs quickly, shutting himself in the small room and sitting on his bed to think. His world was crumbling and he thought about the future with apprehension and fear. The wind was getting stronger, rattling the windows of the empty attic rooms around him and howling through the trees that surrounded the house.

  Betty rose early and helped with the milking. Looking at Brian, she could see he had had a bad night.

  “You shouldn’t worry so much. It’ll do you no good at all.”

  “You’re a good one to talk about
worrying.”

  Brian managed to forget his troubles for a while as he started his favourite job, ploughing. The wind had dried the top soil and the earth was turning over perfectly, burying the stubble.

  When evening came his thoughts returned to Laura, he was desperate to see her to try and patch up their relationship. He walked nervously up to the front door, hoping she would personally open it, which she did, but with a sullen expression, not changing when Brian smiled.

  “Hello Laura. I’m sorry about the other night. Can we talk?”

  “Oh, that’s ok. But there’s no point in discussing it. I just feel we’re not right for each other.”

  “So, you don’t want to see me again? Is it because we might lose the farm?”

  “I’ve no intention of ending up a cowman’s wife, so it’s better that we finish it now.”

  “But the worst might not happen.”

  “It certainly won’t as far as I’m concerned. Cheerio.”

  She turned quickly and slammed the door in Brian’s astonished face. He was stunned and distraught, his knees almost turned to jelly as he turned to leave. He had only taken three slow steps forward when the door opened again and Laura appeared, looking sad as she ran out.

  “Oh, Brian, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He turned to face her and could see she looked sorry.

  “It doesn’t matter. I can understand how you feel about marrying a cowman.”

  “But it wasn’t fair of me. Besides as you said it might not happen. Look, we’re both upset, so let’s just think about the situation. Next time we meet we can decide what to do.”

  He still felt upset, but relieved that the relationship might still survive. He hoped it would.

  Chapter Two

  About forty miles from the Kent farm, on a busy street in central London, Reg and Stan Jones sat in a café, looking across the road to a building site. It was 5 o’clock in the afternoon as they watched the builders pack up their tools and get into a rough looking Bedford van, which lurched off up the hill and out of sight. Stan looked at his watch and without saying a word they walked out. The site was next to a large jeweller and the Jones Brothers had been watching it on and off for the last two weeks, noticing men entering and leaving the shop with brief cases chained to their wrists. Reg had followed several of these men and found they always went to a large building in Hatton Garden.