They waste no time tacking up the Clydesdales and leading them to the implement shed, where Jim is sharpening a scythe with a whetstone, the edge of the brown blade turning silver with every singing swipe. Hearing the jangle of the horses’ bits, he looks up, eager and joyful, for the forthcoming task is the symbolic culmination of the year’s labours and the ultimate example of the earth’s alchemy. Propping the long wooden snath of the scythe against the wall, he introduces Jack to the reaper-binder, a peculiar-looking piece of machinery that will be critical to the day’s endeavours.

He leads Jack down the length of the broad canvas conveyor belt, which runs just above the ground to the left of the raised driver’s seat. He points out the iron teeth lining its front edge which will shunt back and forth, cutting the corn’s stalks, and describes how the broad batons that rise before it will sail round, knocking the cut corn onto the canvas belt, which will then elevate it past the driver’s seat and over to the right-hand side of the machine. There the stalks will be bundled into sheaves mechanically secured with string before tumbling to the ground. It will be Jack and Gwen’s responsibility to gather those sheaves and place them in stooks around the field, so the warm air can circulate amongst them, drying the corn.

Jack listens intently, asks intelligent questions and, from the corner of his eye, watches Gwen as she attaches chains between the implement and the horses’ harness. When she is done, Jim passes Jack the scythe he has just sharpened, then lifts down another one from the wall behind him. Bobby whickers as Gwen slaps the reins against the horses’ broad rumps and issues them with the instruction to walk on.

The two men reach the cornfield in advance of Gwen. Before the binder can be put to work, they will need to scythe through the scutch grass and scarlet poppies, the oxeye daisies and blue cornflowers that spill from the margins into the crop. Jack is surprised by the weight of the scythe and pays close attention as Jim shows him how to roll his body with the snath, sweeping the curved blade as he goes. Soon, with some sadness, he has cut a swathe through the pretty borders and, rather than bobbing in the breeze, the colourful flowers now dapple the ground.

The sun climbs in the azure sky. Jack’s shirt becomes tacky and sweat stings his eyes. Around him, grasshoppers sing with the discordance of an orchestra tuning up in the pit. Before long, the clip-clop of horses’ shoes rings out on the lane alerting them to Gwen’s arrival. Clambering down from the binder’s raised seat, she readies the machine for her father, replacing the large carriage wheels with the smaller field ones, before winding down the main wheel to its correct working height.