In the middle of the month, Jim caves to pressure from the WarAg and decides to sell his sheep. On the morning of the Helvedon livestock market, they corral the flock in the yard. The animals anxiously bunch together, their plaintive bleats deafening. Gwen has suffered another bout of morning sickness and Jim has told her in no uncertain terms to remain behind. She stands on the top step overlooking the fretful creatures, her arms wrapped around her.

Ted arrives to help and Jim, crook in hand, works his way through the shuffling mass to greet him. Jack takes the opportunity to edge his way to Gwen.

‘There’s always been sheep on this farm,’ she says as he reaches her. ‘I remember my mum having the cade lambs by the range in the kitchen. I used to help feed them as soon as I was able to hold a bottle.’ She shakes her head. ‘This doesn’t seem right.’

‘You can raise sheep on hill farms that are no good for crops, but this land can be cultivated,’ Jack says, leaning on the crook he has been given as he recalls Jim’s last meeting with the WarAg rep.

‘And they’ll take the farm if Dad refuses. So, I suppose this is the lesser of two evils.’

‘How are you feeling, now? Are you well enough to come with us?’ He does not relish the idea of being alone with Jim and Ted all day. The latter has been distinctly cold with Jack ever since he learnt of their engagement. Jim had promised Gwen he would not tell anyone the true circumstances of their hasty betrothal, but Jack wonders whether he has confided in his friend and neighbour after all.

‘You heard Dad. I’m staying here. Anyway, Muriel needs a hand grading the eggs.’

He nods, hoping his disappointment doesn’t show. Jim raises his crook to catch Jack’s attention.

‘We’re off,’ he shouts.

Jack straightens up, lifting his own crook in acknowledgement. Ted swings open the gate and with a whistle from Jim, Kip, head low, pressures the sheep from the yard.

The flock trot gamely down the narrow lane, filling its breadth. Jim works his way to the front, while Ted falls in with Jack at the back.

The pace is slow, but the lane is thankfully quiet. A couple on bicycles pull into a gateway and call out ‘Good morning!’, laughing as they wait for the sheep to pass, before remounting and pedalling on. A car coming up behind them is less patient. The driver revs his engine and, when they show no sign of facilitating his passage, he blares his horn.

Ted glares at him and with an ill-tempered gesture indicates there is nowhere for them to move the sheep aside.

The driver leans out through his rolled-down window. ‘Can’t you hurry the buggers up?’

‘Bloody idiot,’ Ted mutters under his breath.