The Serial: A Rowan Tree In My Garden Day 70

We waited in trepidation. Fortunately the fire engine had come in the nick of time and the blaze was soon under control. Had it not been for the tragic death of the hens, I would have said that we had got off lightly.

In the five years we were at The Shanry it was always difficult making ends meet. Nothing went entirely smoothly: always there was something that kept us short of money no matter how hard we tried.

During the spring that followed Richard’s birth, I took up the rearing of turkeys. I knew about turkeys; knew they were difficult to bring up without a mother.

They are more delicate than chickens and prone to certain diseases. They also become ill easily if they get chilled or wet.

We had a hen house surplus to requirements and I purchased 50 day-old turkey chicks and a heated chicken rearer to put into the hen house. I kept the turkeys inside until they were old enough to withstand getting cold or wet.

Unforgettable

They grew to maturity by Christmas time and were ready for slaughter. This was the bit I did not like and, to spare me the pain of taking part in it, Ronnie hired a couple of poultry people from the village to help him catch and kill them.

I think it was in the second year of our turkey experiment that an unforgettable experience occurred. That year we had reared a new variety of white turkey. Our poultry helpers from the village came to our aid again at Christmas time. For a start, catching the turkeys was a tricky operation.

It was a beautiful evening with a glittering touch of frost in the air. The stars above were pinpoints of silver and the full moon a large, fresh water pearl in the sky.

Because of the difficulty of rounding the turkeys up from their chosen roosts, I had been seconded to help, when all of a sudden they took to the air.

We hadn’t realised that this variety could fly. It was a beautiful sight to watch them make for the moon and then head towards the moonlit valley and the shining river far below but a most frustrating one.

They all arrived back next day but it made us a day late with deliveries. We were still stuffing turkeys on Christmas Eve and by the morning were exhausted.

Ronnie had to go off early to deliver the last batch while I remained at home to play with Richard and the new toys Santa had brought. Three weeks later, my second son was born.

Although there were times of great exhaustion at the Shanry I was happy there: I didn’t mind being poor in the material sense. I liked being thrifty, as my sister and I had been taught to be during the war.

I enjoyed cooking and baking and helping out on the farm at busy times. Housework I cared for less: it had to be done but was often left until last.

I foresaw a time when the many children we planned to have would be walking through the fields to our nearest neighbour at Balmyre and then on to the narrow winding road leading to Kilspindie School: a small one with around a dozen pupils taught by a single teacher.

Remarkable

Many of these single-teacher schools achieved remarkable results with their pupils. It was widely known that the teacher at Kilspindie, at that time, got nearly all her pupils to pass the exams that gained entrance to the higher education schools. Also, we thought the walk to school would be good exercise for the kids.

I was happy with future prospects. The thought of travel and adventure had taken a back seat. I could wait until the family had grown: there would be time then. I could even return to nursing to make a bit of money in order to afford foreign travel.

On our fourth summer at The Shanry our third baby boy arrived.

It wasn’t until the following spring that the crunch came: one snowy night Ronnie came in from the cattle reeds carrying the hurricane lantern and looking decidedly worried.

“One of the cows is in trouble,” he said. “She’s just not going to deliver her calf on her own and, try as I might, I can’t help her. I’ll have to call the vet.”

We could scarcely afford the vet although in these days they were much cheaper than they are now. He duly arrived and with difficulty delivered the cow. The calf had died inside the mother and the cow herself showed signs of illness.

“There’s a possibility she may have Brucellosis,” said the vet. “Brucellosis,” repeated Ronnie, “what does that entail?”

“Brucellosis is infectious even to humans,” the vet explained. “In humans it is called glandular fever. Vets and farmers are particularly prone to it.

“It’s possible that other members of the herd might be infected. There could be more dead calves to come. I’ll do tests to see if that is what this cow has. I’ll let you know.”

“But how could it have happened?” Ronnie questioned the vet. “I’ve bought no new cows lately. It can’t just descend from the air can it?” “Have you let any land for other people’s cows?” “No,” Ronnie replied, “but occasionally, when out counting the cattle on the hill, I have thought there were one or two extra ones. Don’t know where they came from but I reckoned they must have strayed from a neighbour’s field.

“I rang up one or two neighbours. They denied all knowledge of having lost any and the cows mysteriously disappeared again.

“Someone suggested they were probably let in deliberately to make use of my bull.

Disease

“When we first came here I inherited a bull that could jump a five-barred gate and he was always disappearing. I had to sell him because of that but the bull I have now doesn’t attempt to go beyond the boundaries.”

“That’s maybe the answer then”, said the vet. “That’s how they could have contracted it.” The vet left leaving Ronnie in despair.

“Wait till he comes back with the result. It may not be Brucellosis after all,” I said optimistically.

When the vet returned the news was not good. The cow was diagnosed as having the dreaded disease. It was possible others might contract it also.

“Next year,” said Ronnie gloomily, “we could have no calves at all. They bring in more than half our income.

“This is it. We can’t go on. It’s the last straw, they say, that breaks the camel’s back.

“Remember how we talked of going to Canada before we were married: how about it now, all of us?” (More tomorrow.)

Ronnie came in from the cattle reeds carrying the hurricane lantern and looking decidedly worried