With the ploughing, Matthew was needed at Brumbys’ more than usual. On Mondays Esther washed and ironed, on Tuesdays and Wednesdays she helped with the ploughing when Matthew was needed elsewhere, then on Thursdays she baked and cooked enough food to last the week. Fridays and Saturdays she worked outside again, sometimes more ploughing, sometimes with the stock. But on Sundays, she found that Sam was quite happy to do a minimum of work.

‘It’s the Lord’s Day,’ he said gruffly one Sunday morning when he found her black-leading the range. Even the animals were given as little attention as possible.

‘Give ’em a sharpener on the Lord’s Day,’ Sam told her. ‘One feed a day instead of two on the Sabbath – they’ll be all the more ready to come to the trough tomorrow.’

So on a Sunday, Esther found she had time for herself.

Walking down the lane from Brumbys’ Farm towards the Point one Sunday afternoon, when the winter sun lay low in the southern sky, streaking the fields with a golden glow, Esther hummed to herself and every so often she gave a little skip of sheer happiness. She came to the stretch of grass between the cottages and the river bank. Four of Ma Harris’s children were chasing each other in a noisy game of tag. Esther smiled to herself. Sabbath or not, Ma Harris would never manage to keep that brood quiet.

‘Is yar mam at home?’ she asked a boy with a runny nose.

‘Nah, she’s away yonder,’ he pointed inland with a grubby finger, ‘there’s a babby bein’ born at Souters’ Farm.’

‘A babby?’

‘Aye, the missus is having her fifth babby. Me mam allus goes to ’elp when a babby’s getting borned.’ He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and sniffed noisily.

Esther nodded, said goodbye, and walked on towards the river bank.