Esther found that her horses were much in demand too, and she received payment from some of the farmers for their use of Punch and Prince.

‘You’m lucky you’ve still got yar ’osses,’ Mr Souter told her. ‘They took the team I reckon to borrow from the squire in the first month of the war.’

‘What d’ya mean, Mr Souter? Who took them?’

‘This government official came – from the War Office, or whatever they call ’em. Commandeered them for service, he said.’

Esther gasped. ‘Can they do that?’

‘Huh, can they just!’ Mr Souter said grimly.

Well, ya’re welcome to borrow mine, Mester Souter.’

‘Thank ’ee, Mrs Hilton. I might at that – while ya’ve still got ’em!’

So it was not quite such a shock for Esther the day a thin-faced, hunch-backed little man with steel-rimmed spectacles and clutching a sheaf of papers under his arm knocked on the back door of Brumbys’ Farm.

‘I am sorry to inform you that you are required to give up your two farm horses, Mrs Hilton.’

‘I ain’t no ’osses,’ Esther said boldly, but at that moment, Punch decided to kick his stable door.

The man’s eyes narrowed and he smiled thinly. ‘Really, Mrs Hilton,’ he said. ‘Well, I am informed—’

‘Oh, yes, and who informed you, might I ask?’ Esther said belligerently and added beneath her breath, ‘as if I didn’t know.’

The man cleared his throat nervously. ‘There is another little matter, Mrs Hilton.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Her tone was uninviting.

‘Yes – it’s about your grassland. Meadows.’

‘What about it?’

‘We need you to plough up some of your grassland for—’

‘I ain’t ploughing me grassland up and thats final!’ Esther’s eyes sparkled with defiance and she stood, hands on hips, facing him.

‘Well – er – Mrs Hilton – the Government . . .’

‘If the Gov’ment want to plough me land up, the Gov’ment can come and do it! And . . .’ she added menacingly, ‘I’d like to see ’em do it without ’osses.’

‘But, Mrs Hilton—’

She flung her hand out to encompass the cows munching happily in the field to the left of the farmyard. ‘Where are you goin’ to get milk from if the cows ain’t no grass to feed on? You tell me that!’

‘Er – well, I don’t rightly . . .’

‘Exactly! I’ve never heard anything so daft in all me life. An’ if I lose me hay harvest, I can’t feed my livestock through the winter. If you tek me ’osses, I can’t bring either me hay in nor me corn harvest.’

‘Well, I do take your point about the grassland, but the horses, I really must insist—’

‘And I must insist,’ Esther said, her tone heavy with sarcasm, ‘that you leave me farm. This is private property.’

‘Madam.’ The man’s tone became lofty. There is a war on.’