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Back Plough the Furrow
Chapters (53)
  1. Cover
  2. Title page
  3. Dedication page
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-one
  25. Twenty-two
  26. Twenty-three
  27. Twenty-four
  28. Twenty-five
  29. Twenty-six
  30. Twenty-seven
  31. Twenty-eight
  32. Twenty-nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-one
  35. Thirty-two
  36. Thirty-three
  37. Thirty-four
  38. Thirty-five
  39. Thirty-six
  40. Thirty-seven
  41. Thirty-eight
  42. Thirty-nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-one
  45. Forty-two
  46. Forty-three
  47. Forty-four
  48. Sow the Seed
  49. Reap the Harvest
  50. About the Author
  51. ALSO BY MARGARET DICKINSON
  52. Acknowledgements
  53. Copyright page

Tuesday evening was clear and fine when Esther watched Matthew walk out of the yard dressed in his best suit, his watch-chain looped across his chest, and set off purposefully in the direction of the town. She saw Ernie Harris running down the road from the Point, saw him draw level with Matthew and fall into step beside him. She watched them until they turned a bend in the lane and were lost from her sight. At that moment, Enid arrived to sit with Kate, and Esther put on her coat and hat. Pulling the back door to behind her, she set off across the yard. As she drew level with the barn she heard footsteps in the lane and, not wishing to be seen, she hid behind the corner of the building, peeping out to see who it was. She almost gasped aloud. A group of men from the Point, all dressed in their Sunday best, were walking towards the town. She spotted Robert Eland with the landlord of the pub. There was Mr Harris and Beth’s father, Dan Hanley, too.

Esther clicked her tongue with exasperation. Now she would have to wait until they were well up the lane before she could set out. When they too had taken the curve in the road, she left her hiding place and followed them at what she hoped was a safe distance.

‘Esther – Esther, lass. Wait for me!’

She turned to see Ma Harris hurrying towards her as fast as her little round body would allow. ‘You going to the meeting, lass?’

Esther nodded grimly. ‘I don’t want Matthew to see me though.’

‘Huh, I don’t want my old man to see me either,’ Ma Harris replied with feeling, but tonight there was no toothless grin, no attempt at humour.

On a green stretch of grass on the sea front, a huge crowd had gathered. At one end on a raised dais were a table and several chairs where some of the local dignitaries had gathered. When Esther arrived and joined the throng, weaving her way through the crowd in order to hear better, Squire Marshall was on his feet addressing the meeting, shaking his fist in the air.

‘We are fighting for our very existence, for freedom and democracy. In Belgium ordinary men are being shot and their women violated . . .’ A horrified gasp rippled amongst the crowd. ‘And when they have overrun Europe they will turn upon us, upon Britain. We must unite for God, for our King and for our country . . .’