They lead the horses through the gateway and line them up ready, leaving a margin at the edge of the field. Jim calls for Jack to join him, while Gwen remains at the horses’ heads. He talks him through the handling of the reins and how to guide the plough so that its blade slices through the heavy clay, which the mouldboard behind turns over into smooth plasticine folds. He shows him how to bring the horses round at the end of the furrow and how to line them up so that the ridges form in perfect symmetry. Jack quickly appreciates there is artistry in the farmer’s handling of steel and steed. Heads bowed, the horses cross the field to the rattle of chain and clink of metal as the blades catch on flints and stones. Above them, a flock of gulls whirl and cry, pitching periodically to plunder the freshly exposed earth. The threatening rain holds off.

By mid-morning, a third of the field has transformed to corrugated soil, contrasting sharply with the remaining grass. From the lane, they hear the chunter of a car engine and shortly after a figure appears in the gateway. He holds up a hand in greeting then makes his way across, waiting for them at the end of the furrow, his pocketed hands pushing back the sides of his shabby tweed jacket.

‘Morning, Ted,’ Gwen calls.

‘Morning, Gwen. Jim.’

Jack senses the stranger’s lingering scrutiny as Jim draws back on the reins, bringing the horses to a standstill.

‘Ted – how are you?’

‘Well, thank you. This is looking very nice.’

‘Ah, it’s turning well. What can we do for you?’

‘I’ve come to ask a favour. My Judy’s gone lame and I wanted to harrow the west field tomorrow. I wondered if there was any chance I might borrow one of your two?’ He nods towards the horses.

‘Ah, of course. I tell you what, when we’ve finished up here, I’ll get Gwen to walk Bobby over, Brenda can get the plough home on her own. You can put him out to graze and he’ll be all ready for you tomorrow then.’

‘That sounds good. Thank you, Jim. I’m most grateful to you.’

‘What are neighbours for, if not to help each other out? Now, I’ve just thought, you’ve not met my new labourer.’ Jim leans on the plough handle. ‘This here’s Jack, he’ll be helping me out for a few months.’

The farmer strides forward, his boots sinking into the turned earth. His paw-like hand swallows Jack’s in a fearsome grip.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Jack says, flexing his crushed fingers by his side.

‘That’s not a local accent.’

‘No.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘Sunderland,’ Jack says, pleased that this time the lie falls without hesitation.

‘You’re a long way from home.’

He shrugs. ‘I wanted to spread my wings a little, broaden my horizons.’