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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

‘Will he – will they be going to France too?’

Ernie wrinkled his forehead. ‘I suppose so. I don’t know if we all go together or what, but I’ll keep a look out for him, missus,’ he promised finally.

There was a moment of awkwardness between them before Ernie said, ‘I’d best be off. Goodbye. I hopes everything goes well on the farm for you. I’ve told our Enid to come and help you when she can. I hope that was all right, missus?’

Esther nodded. ‘Thank you, Ernie. I’d be glad to have her.’ It would be a little bit of Ernie Harris close to her, she thought.

Esther had been surprised by her feelings after Ernie had gone. She missed him about the farm, missed the help he had given so willingly, and was lost without his cheerful good nature to lighten the days. Especially the days when Matthew had sunk into one of his dark, silent moods.

With an unaccustomed lump in her throat, Esther said, ‘Goodbye and – and good luck. Take care of yourself.’

He put on his cap, placing it carefully at the right angle, pride in every movement. ‘I will, missus. I’ll be seeing you again.’

With a cheerful wave, he was gone. Across the yard and out of the gate, where he turned to wave again and then set off up the lane towards the town.

It was to be the last they saw of Ernie Harris.

Twenty-two

CHRISTMAS that year – the time by which they had all believed the war would be over – came and went. It lacked the usual festive feeling. The adults had to force themselves to make merry for the sake of the children, but a cloud hung over everyone.

A small package came for Esther who, never having received anything like that before, fingered it nervously before opening it. Inside was a Christmas card from Matthew. There were also two copies of a photograph of him in uniform. On the back he had written, ‘Some of the lads had their pictures took, so I did too.’