The Man from The Ministry

  As he came to the crossroads at Green’s Smithy he took a left turn passing two bright shiny petrol pumps.   Ever since he was a kid there had been petrol pumps at Green’s Smithy, but they were so old and dilapidated it was never really clear whether they were still in use or not.  Now it was clear from the bright and shiny new petrol prices that they were.

  Stewart liked this part of Bentham.  Meandering down the narrow roads reminded him of his childhood.  That was in a more innocent time.  Only recently he’d had to swing into a ditch as a Supermarket delivery van travelling much too fast on a blind corner took off his right wing-mirror.  

  Charlie Bell’s place, Greystones Farm, was only a couple of miles down the road.  The entrance fell away to the left onto a drive blocked by a large grey tubular steel gate.   This required a lift with one hand whilst the other removed the piece of orange bailing twine circling the stone gatepost.   The Farmhouse was about 200 yards down what passed as a track.   It consisted of two deep parallel ruts just deep enough to catch his exhaust pipe.  In some places there had been a few attempts to improve matters by the addition of broken bricks in the deeper ruts but this only bounced the Ford up and down on its engine sump.  Eventually he worked out that if he swung his left wheels out onto the grass he could just about make it without further mishap.

 As he pulled up into the yard Charlie was stood leaning on a brush watching his lopsided attempt at driving.  Most of the yard was wet so it was clear from all the water that Charlie had been giving the yard a good clean.

 ‘All reet?’ said Charlie.

‘Aye’ said Stewart slamming the car door ‘Fair to middlin‘

  ‘Tha’ wants to get thissen a four-wheel drive ‘

  ‘I’m a Social Worker Charlie not a rich farmer.’

‘There’s no such thing as a rich farmer Stewart – not round here.  Anyroad come on in and sit thissen down.  Vespa Vicar’s here already.’    He pointed to the moped by the gate.

From inside the kitchen came a quiet voice ‘It’s not a Vespa Charlie, it’s a Honda 50 as you well know.’ The vicar, who was called Andrew, appeared holding a tea towel in one hand and a cup in the other.  He was wearing his dog collar and a very old grey sweater.

‘Come on in’, said Charlie. ‘Let’s go int’ parlour’.

Stewart took of his shoes and the three of them walked through the living room, where Andrew the vicar had set up a round table with six chairs. ‘The Conference Room’, he explained as they passed through into the Parlour.

The Parlour was light and airy compared with the rest of the house.   A small table supported a vase of fresh flowers, a large cake, a knife and three plates.  They sat down in three comfortable armchairs.  A black and white Border Collie had been lying on the floor, it followed Stewart to his seat and wrapped itself around his legs resting its chin on his knee.

 ‘Down Fly’ said Charlie. Fly lay down – across Stewart’s foot. 

Stewart opened his brief case and pulled out a file.  He read something on the first page. ‘Well Charlie’, he said still staring at the file, ‘have we got a plan for this?’

‘Yes’, said Charlie ‘let’s try a piece of cake with our tea.  It’s been made specially.’

Andrew passed the cups of tea round from the tray and said, ‘Charlie come on, stop avoiding the issue.’  He put the tray down and sat in a chair.  ‘The main points I think are these.  You’ve not recorded your stock under the new passport scheme with the British Cattle Movement Service.  They’ve sent you some paperwork to fill in   – which you’ve ignored – three times.  There is a potential £30,000 fine hanging over you.  and DEFRA are sending someone along today to confiscate your stock and take it for slaughter.  Have I missed anything?’

‘Yes, you forgot to put sugar in mi tea’

‘Charlie you’ve got to take this seriously.’  said Stewart.  He flipped through two more pages of the file.

‘You’re nearly eighty now and you’re all on your own.   It says here you have a nephew in Ireland’.

‘Yes our Liam, our Doreen, mi sister, was his mam.   His dad came to work for us one hiring fair, about 1950 I think it was.   In those days before you lads were born, we didn’t haytime with plastic bags, and bailers were still a bit of a novelty.  Everything was done by hand. Every June a gang of Irish lads would come up on the train and stand by the “Cross” – you know where the Black Bull and Brown Cow are now.

‘Brown Cow?’, said Andrew

‘Coach House’ said Stewart.

‘Daft name if you ask me.  I don’t remember any coaches – unless you count Bibby’s old bus,’ said Charlie.

‘So we’d have a few pints in the “Black Bull” continued Charlie ‘and then we’d go out and pick the ones we thought were the strongest. I picked Sean that year.  Well him and Doreen hit it off right away.  They got married the end of that year, and he stayed a couple more years before they went back to Ireland.

‘You still had Mary then?’

‘Yes Bless her she died eleven years ago,’ he pointed to a large urn in the centre of the sideboard, ‘and I’ve managed to look after mysen since then.     I still get down to Bentham on Wednesday’s and meet a few old friends at the Auction Mart.   Mary was big in the Women’s institute you know.  She was always winning prizes at Bentham Show – Victoria Sponges, Elderberry wine, flower arrangements that kind of thing.  Well when she died the other women got into the habit of bringing me cakes, and cooking me meals.   It’s almost become a competition now, so are we going to eat this cake they’ve brought or not?’

‘Oh my goodness’ said Andrew leaping to his feet and looking out of the window.  Stewart and Charlie joined him.

‘That looks like the man from the ministry to me,’ said Stewart?

‘Bloody Hell’, said Charlie ‘has he brought t’ Prime Minister with him as well? ‘

A procession had begun to move through the gate from the road.  First there was a police car with headlights blazing, followed closely by a large black saloon car, and bringing up the rear was a massive cattle wagon.

‘Come on’, said Andrew ‘let’s go and meet them’

Having taken off their shoes the three were obliged to stay inside, so they stood in a row by the doorway.

‘I feel like one of the Wise Men’ said Charlie.   Andrew tried hard not to giggle.

The man from the ministry wore a dark suit with a black overcoat.   His head was close shaved as was the fashion for balding middle-aged men, and he wore round rimmed glasses.  Stewart thought he looked  like a Gestapo Officer and remembered something he had learned in a Social Services training course.  – “If you feel intimidated by someone just think of them sitting on a toilet.  They all do.”

‘Come in’, said Stewart, extending his arm.   He noticed the man looking at their stocking feet. 

‘It’s OK to keep your shoes on’, said Andrew ‘we have been having tea in the parlour. It wasn’t a Freemasons meeting or anything like that’, he said smiling. ‘Would you care for a drink?’  The Man’s expression remained serious.

‘No thank you’, he replied.

Stewart looked at Charlie but he didn’t seem keen to speak, so Stewart began:

‘I’m Stewart Armstrong.  North Yorkshire Social Services, this is Reverend Andrew Greene, He’s a pastoral support worker, employed by “Churches Together “and we are here to support Mr Bell.  Would you like to sit down?’

‘Smith – British Cattle Movement Service.’

Stewart held out his hand but Mr Smith was already removing a rather thick file from his bag as he sat down.

‘This is Sergeant Robinson’, he said waving his hand in the air.  

Sergeant Robinson had taken up a position to the side of the door, his hands together in front of him similar to the position he took up when on courtroom duty or when he was supporting a criminal investigation interview.

‘The other two are here to help transport the cattle – if it should come to that.’

The other two were standing outside on the doorstep looking in.

’Ow do’, said the older of the two, ‘I’m Bert Withington and this is young Gary, my helper.’ 

Young Gary didn’t look a day under 50. 

‘Come on Garry let’s get on with it!’, and with that the two disappeared into the yard.

  ‘Now ‘, said Mr Smith, looking at Charlie, ‘I’m sure you know by now that it is illegal not to record and ear tag your cattle.   Ever since the foot and mouth outbreak which wiped out thousands of cattle, you will understand the need for close monitoring of stock.   So I am giving you one last chance to register your animals before we take them away for slaughter, and nobody wants that do they?’

‘No they don’t’, said Charlie, ‘and I would be only happy to do what you ask except that….’

‘Except that what’, said Mr Smith.

‘Except that there are no cattle to register!’

Everybody looked at Charlie who seemed a little embarrassed.  Loosening his tie, which he had put on specially for the occasion, he began ‘When I got up this morning I went outside and they were nowhere to be seen.’

‘Are you sure they didn’t wander off anywhere?’, said Mr Smith.  ‘Did you leave a gate open by mistake perhaps?’

‘No t’ gate were shut fast’.

‘Did you not hear anything or see anything in the night’.

‘No. Once I’m asleep that’s it.’

‘What about the dog?’

‘Fly?  She’s a sheepdog – she’s not bothered about cows!’

Fly, who was lying quietly on the carpet, managed two wags of her tail.  Smith, without a word jumped to his feet and headed for the door.  Stewart, Andrew and Charlie followed falling over each other to put on some footwear.

The top field was located at the end of the yard.  The gate was open now, and it was clear from the muddy hoof marks that there had been cattle there recently.  The field was flat for the first hundred yards but then gently sloped away down the valley towards the distant River Wenning.   From this slope there slowly appeared the heads and then the bodies of Bert and Young Gary out of breath and covered in mud.

‘There’s nowt down here boss,’ shouted Bert, ‘nor in t’other fields’.

‘Get over here quick,’ shouted Sergeant Robinson to anyone who was listening, ‘You’re buggering up my crime scene’

‘Oh I never thought of that.’ said Andrew, ‘Shouldn’t you be wrapping some tape around the gate or something.’

       ‘You just concentrate on saving people’s souls and I’ll get on with saving people’s cattle.’ said Sergeant Robinson.

Mr Smith was now leaning against the roof of his car engaged in an intense conversation on his mobile phone.   Sergeant Robinson turned to Charlie, his eyebrow slightly raised.

‘It’s a pity you washed the yard Charlie, there could have been some incriminating tyre tracks there’.

‘Mmmm’ said  Charlie.

Liam Devlin sat in an armchair at Greystones Farm, just as the setting summer sun threw long shadows across the farmyard.  He looked again at the paper that Andrew the Vicar had given him. After Charlie had died Andrew had been helpful and sorted out some accommodation for him.   After Liam had seen the Solicitor Andrew had passed on a letter.

‘Your Uncle Charlie was very insistent that I give you this “

He read it once again.

Dear Liam,

Liam had found the urn. It was a rather large urn and reminded Liam of the cup that his cousin has shown him when their local team won the Limerick Hurling Championships.  It was stuffed full of money mainly in £20 and £50 notes.  All together it came to £39,315.

The next part of the note Liam found difficult to understand, it read,

‘A few years ago I gave up farming when the last of my stock disappeared, nobody seems to know where it went, but you being from Ireland will know all about the little people, how they sometimes borrow things.   Now if they don’t give them back they will leave a payment instead.   Some people say that a crock of gold was the usual payment but with me it was an urn full of paper.

I thought a lot of your mother and I am sure you will do the best for Greystones

Your loving Uncle,

Charlie’

Liam’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car horn.   Picking up his rucksack into which he had stuffed the money, he took one last look around the room and headed for the door.   Andrew the Vicar was sat in a Landrover.   Liam locked the farmhouse door and climbed into the passenger seat.  The Land Rover was built like an army jeep, with little in the way of comfort.

‘It was a present from your Uncle – the Landrover,’ said Andrew. ’He left it in his will.  Not to me personally you understand, but to the Project’. 

He swung the Land Rover round and bumped down the track to the gate. 

‘The only other animal he had left was Fly the sheepdog.    Stewart his social worker has taken him.  – if that’s alright with you? ‘

‘Of course it is’ said Liam.

‘Steward did a lot for your uncle you know.  He got him off paying the fine when the cattle disappeared.’

‘Yes I wanted to talk to you about that?”

      ‘Can you do the honours first,’ said Andrew pointing to the metal gate.

Liam jumped out of the Land Rover and opened the gate. After Andrew drove through he waited until Liam had pushed the gate shut and climbed back into the passenger seat.  As they drove along Mewith Road Andrew explained how he had booked a room in the Black Bull for the night, and how  Liam could  catch a train the next morning that would take him directly to the ferry at Heysham.    

‘Though you will have to go via the Isle of Man nowadays’

As they reached the bottom of Summer Hill they had to stop whilst a large low loader carrying a static caravan slowly manoeuvred its way onto Riverside Caravan Park.

‘Have you thought what you are going to do with Greystones?’, said Andrew.

‘If you’re not thinking of farming it there is plenty of opportunity round here for a Caravan site, and the farmhouse building would make a grand holiday home.’

      ‘I haven’t had chance to think about it yet,’ said Liam.

They were now approaching the top of Station Road.  ‘I wondered if you would care to have a drink with me Andrew if that’s allowed?’

‘It’s allowed’, said Andrew ‘Thanks very much’. He pulled in to the right by the Black Bull and parked behind the Town Hall.

‘Come with me for a minute’ said Liam, ‘I want to show you something’.  He hurried along ignoring the rear entrance to the pub.  Following the outside wall he turned right at the end of the building, surprising a couple of smokers.   He stopped on the corner.

‘This,’ he said lifting one hand in the air, is where my father stood all those years ago. ‘

When I was young he used to tell me stories about the Hiring Fair.  How this place was filled with Belfast men showing off their muscles.   There were plenty of gypsies then running their horses up and down in the hope of a quick sale on their way back from Appleby.  There were merry go-rounds he said and stalls even busier than the market in Derry.’

Andrew looked down the street.  It was deserted now except for a family of caravaners using the cash machine before making their way to the Coach House.

Come on in’ said Liam, ‘ I’ll buy you a pint.’

When they finally sat down Andrew took a couple of mouthfuls of Guinness. Wiping away the white moustache it had left there he said, ’Now then Liam you said you wanted to ask me a question – about your uncles cattle disappearing’

‘I did.  Tell me Vicar do you believe in fairies?’